


Kes is Dead

by Singing_Violin



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 56,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singing_Violin/pseuds/Singing_Violin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the events of "Endgame," the inevitable happens. Back in the Alpha Quadrant, Admiral Janeway is depressed and Harry Kim is in mortal danger. Will the Voyager family be able to avert further tragedy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters and universe are not mine.
> 
> Author's Note: This epic is my longest story to date, and draws from events in various Star Trek series, specifically DS9 Season 7, and all of Star Trek: Voyager. If you have not watched these series, you may be a little confused (and feel free to ask the author for clarification). There are some references to TOS as well. There are also some other references you may pick up on; consider them Easter eggs. :) This story was written and published chapter-by-chapter on ffnet, and I must thank all the reviewers who read and reviewed while it was a WIP, inspiring me along the way. I am also currently working on a sequel, after many requests over the years.

Tuvok awoke with a start. He could feel his wife beside him, in body and in their mental bond. That bond was the aorta of a vast network of mental connections, the residual traces of all the mind melds he had ever experienced. Every person he had melded with was present, a tenuous thread connected to his Katra. Because of the eternal nature of that Katra, even after death, the strands connected to Vulcans remained. _You shall not die as long as someone remembers you._ He could feel his parents, and Admiral Janeway, his children, and, most of all, his wife.

But this night, one of the threads was missing.

Searching his mind, the Vulcan drew the only logical conclusion, rose from his bed quietly so as not to wake T'Pel, and made the subspace call.

The face of his closest human friend appeared on the screen. She smiled at him, and he noted, with concern, that the last two years had not been kind to her. Crinkles were evident at the corners of her eyes, and a few of the hairs growing from her forehead shined silver-grey, contrasting with the auburn of the rest. Circles under her eyes indicated a lack of adequate sleep, and her face was gaunt, suggesting that she had lost considerable weight since their return. He regretted not having visited her, but he had missed too much time with his family, and his life was on Vulcan now.

"Tuvok, what a nice surprise!" Janeway exclaimed, reminding the former officer that they had not spoken in nearly a year. There was no logical reason to communicate, and so they hadn't. There was an unspoken understanding that, should anything be amiss, each would contact the other, and so, with the lack of correspondence, each had assumed that the other was well. In Janeway's case, the assumption had been correct. However, the Vulcan had clearly been mistaken.

For a moment, he considered whether he should keep this news from the wearied admiral, but he knew that she would want to know as soon as possible. "Admiral," Tuvok stated plainly, "Kes is dead."

For a moment, she did not speak, stunned by the news and its messenger. "How do you know?" she whispered, dreading the reply.

He raised an eyebrow, monitoring her reaction. "I was linked with her many times on _Voyager_ , and we shared a particularly deep meld to help her control herself the day she left. The Vulcan mind meld leaves a trace that is never fully erased, unless the person on the other side is deceased." He neglected to mention that this wasn't quite true when that person was of his own species. Vulcan mysticism had no place in this conversation.

The human woman sat back, contemplating the news. Her voice hitched when she finally acknowledged it. "Thank you, Tuvok, for telling me." Her whole posture fell, dejectedly, and then she shifted, overcome with a thought. "I suppose we should have some sort of memorial service. If nothing else, it's an excuse for a reunion."

Vulcans were not prone to whim, but, illogically, Tuvok felt a need to be with his former captain. "If you wish, I can be on Earth in approximately forty-two hours," he offered. "I can assist with the preparations."

She smiled at him, clearly tempted by the offer, but two days was too much time. "Thank you, Tuvok, but that won't be necessary," she replied. "I'll contact you when I know when the service will be. I'll see you then."

He nodded his assent, and contemplated asking her about her current situation, but decided that discretion was the best course here. If and when she desired his assistance, he trusted her to request it. He disconnected the comm link and returned to bed, but he could not sleep.

As she processed the news, Kathryn Janeway felt her eyes sting and a lump form in her throat. She had never really contemplated the true tragedy of Kes's short lifespan, and, perhaps, she had always hoped that Kes would defy her genetics and reach a much more acceptable age. The Ocampan's frailty when she had briefly returned, angry and hurt and ready to destroy her one-time friends, should have ruled out this notion, but still the woman, to whom Kes was the closest thing she'd ever had to a daughter, had held out hope.

Nine short years. Hardly time to get to know the world around you. And Kes had no offspring, no family to mourn her passing. Janeway supposed that she had returned to Ocampa, but those people, while they were her people, were not her family, and among them, the life span was normal. They would be neither surprised nor aggrieved by her death. The admiral sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her forefinger, tears finally escaping her eyes and coursing down her cheeks.

She had wept for the loss of Kes twice before, but this was different. Kes was dead. Gone forever. Admiral Janeway had accepted the fact that Kes was far away and she would never speak with her again, but it still seemed a temporary separation, friends distant in space who could and would reunite at some point in the future. Tuvok would tell her she was being illogical.

That brought her thoughts back to the Vulcan who had delivered the news. Was Tuvok her closest friend remaining? She wondered. He had clearly wanted to comfort her, but he'd respected her privacy. It occurred to her that she had melded with him as well, and she shuddered, wondering if he would know when she passed, and would inform someone as coldly when it happened. But whom would he tell of her death? He was the one who would care the most.

She'd often felt isolated on _Voyager_ , but, ironically, here on Earth was where she felt most alone. Her _Voyager_ family had dispersed, and she wasn't one to impose. She saw Tom and B'Elanna occasionally, mostly when they needed a babysitter. Tuvok was on Vulcan with his family, and although she wanted to speak with him more frequently, she could never seem to think of a good enough reason to call. Many of the others were on distant planets with their families, or assigned to starships scattered about the quadrant. Her mother and sister were around, as were Mark and his wife, but she felt only obligation to keep in touch with them. There was no companionship.

She had colleagues now, but they were just coworkers. They didn't sleep, eat, breathe, and battle enemies together in close quarters. In fact, she almost never saw them outside of work. A desk job was nothing like starship life. While there were social outings, she often refused to go. It just didn't feel right. She missed her family. Her _Voyager_ family.

She missed him. She hadn't kept in contact with her former first officer because she didn't want to interfere in his life with Seven. She hadn't kept in contact with Seven either, for the same reason. At least, that was the excuse. In truth, it had hurt her more than she could possibly imagine when they had become a couple. They seemed so happy, so in love, and she wanted desperately to support them, but every time she saw them together, she just wanted to cry. So she avoided them altogether, and put them out of her mind.

She supposed she should contact him first, as he had been her first officer, and would be the logical choice to help with the preparations. _The command team_ , she thought bitterly, _back together for one last hurrah_.

It occurred to her that she didn't even know his number. He might not even be close enough to come in time for the memorial service, let alone help with the preparations, though if he were still with Seven, she would want to be near Earth, where her only family resided. Taking a chance, she searched the Federation database, and found him easily.

She drew in a deep, calming breath, willing her emotions under control, and then she made the call.


	2. Act I, Scene 1: Breakdown

Chakotay was meditating when, in the corner of his consciousness, a noise intruded. Slowly coming out of his vision, he realized the sound was the comm. He wondered who would call at this late hour, and quickly rushed to his monitor, worrying that something had happened to Seven, or to someone in his family.

A familiar face appeared on the screen, but that face was altered from his memory of it. She was still as beautiful as ever, but she was thin and haggard-looking, and seemed to have aged twenty years in the last two. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying. "Kathryn?" he queried, eyeing her.

It didn't occur to her how she must look right now, and she'd underestimated the impact seeing his face would have on her already fragile emotional state. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

And then he terminated the link.

Her face fell into her hands, and her thoughts ceased as all she felt was a torrent of emotion, uncontrollable, a storm too long brewing under the surface of her lonely existence. Her sobs racked her body, and she felt emptier than she had ever felt in her entire life.

And then warm hands were on her shoulders, gently turning her around. Looking up, she saw that it was Chakotay. Inexplicably, he was here, and although she hadn't thought it possible, she began to cry even harder. He knelt down in front of her, pulling her against him, and she felt his arms surround her. She reciprocated, grabbing onto him, squeezing the fabric of his shirt in her fists as if he were the life preserver that would save her from drowning in the rapids of her hysteria.

They stayed like that for nearly ten minutes, she trying desperately to regain her control, convulsing in grief against him, her tears soaking into his shirt, and he holding her close, caressing her arms and back and whispering to her that he was here, that whatever it was, it would be all right.

Although he was terribly worried, for he had never seen her like this, not in the seven years he'd served with her, and was afraid that she would make herself sick, crying so hard, it somehow felt right, having her in his arms. They had come home two years ago, but holding Kathryn was the first thing since their return that truly felt like home.

Gradually, she calmed, and pulled away from him, wiping at her eyes. She opened her mouth to apologize for his having to endure this outburst, but he anticipated what she was about to say, and cut her off, gently taking hold of her shoulders, his hands briefly lingering there, then traveling soothingly down her arms until her hands were in his.

"Kathryn," he spoke, the name familiar in his mouth, feeling comfortable, as if it weren't the second time in as many years that he had spoken it, both within the last twenty minutes. "Please don't apologize. We both know you needed this. I came as soon as I saw your face on that screen. I knew something wasn't right and I wasn't going to let you tell me over the comm. You know, I don't live so far from here. You could have visited."

"I…I didn't know," she stammered. "I'm sor…"

"Stop, please," he begged. "No apologies. Not tonight. Not yet." His own guilt was nagging at him. Her condition was his fault, and he wasn't ready to hear her apologize to him. It was he that had hurt her, and he knew it. "Now, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked, infinite tenderness lingering from years of implicit intimacy, a love never consummated, but always present. As he spoke, his fingers stroked her hands, imperceptibly calming her spirit.

She nodded. "It's nothing, really. I mean, it was expected. We all knew…" Her voice trailed off, leaving him to make the conclusion.

"Kes," he stated. He had no idea how he'd figured that out. It was about the right time, but how could she possibly know?

She answered his unspoken thought. "Tuvok's link with her. He felt it."

He closed his eyes, feeling for the Vulcan, and for his former captain. Then he rose to his feet, needing suddenly to pace. Something occurred to him, and he stopped abruptly, turning back to face her. She was looking up at him. "You've been linked with him too," he stated.

She nodded. "He'll feel it when I…"

 _If she goes before me, Tuvok will know before I do_. Chakotay shuddered at the thought. "Kathryn, please. Don't get ahead of yourself. You've got many years left."

"Do I?" she wondered aloud. And suddenly he looked at her and knew that she'd given up on life, that she was withering away through no necessity of nature, and that, if he didn't do anything about it, she wouldn't have many years left at all.

He regarded her steadily, and said simply, "let's talk." He offered her his hand, and, dutifully, she rose from her chair. Looking around, he found the living room, and led her to the couch. It was odd, leading her around her own apartment, an abode he had never before visited, but she didn't seem to notice the incongruity.

They sat, side by side, with his hand still clasped around hers, and began to do as he'd suggested.


	3. Act I, Scene 1: Depression

At first, it was awkward. Both and neither wanted to speak, and they knew not where to start. Finally, she began, and her words formed a question.

"How did you know where to find me?" she queried, quietly.

He smiled sadly at her, taking his free hand and covering their joined fingers. "I still know a few Maquis tricks," he joked, weakly. Then, his face grew serious. "I never lost track of you. I wanted to come by so many times…" His voice trailed off, and the hand that had covered their fists moved to the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek, wiping away the moisture that remained from her tears, before returning to its previous position.

"Seven wouldn't let you?" Kathryn asked, warily. He felt her move to withdraw her hand from his, but he grasped it tightly.

"Seven…" He pronounced the name. It didn't roll off his tongue like it used to. A pained look flashed across his face. "I thought you would have heard…" Then he laughed, bitterly. "Almost as soon as we arrived here, she dumped me. It seems, while I was the most logical choice of mate while we were on _Voyager_ , here she had many other possibilities, and wanted to explore her options. Spirits know she was never short on that sort of attention – and she finally got up the courage to take advantage of it."

"Why didn't you come to me?" she whispered. Her eyes focused, honest and inviting, on his face, and the blue sparkled with more tears threatening to overflow.

Now he withdrew his hands from hers, looking down at his lap. "I was ashamed…and afraid."

Her hand felt cold where his had left it, and she reached to reclaim the big, warm fingers. "Afraid of me, Chakotay? Whatever for?" she asked, rubbing her fingers over the back of his hand. He withdrew it again, forcing space between them.

Anger darkened his eyes as he looked back at his former captain. "Dammit, Kathryn, I know what my relationship with Seven did to you. I saw the look in your eyes when you found out. I saw how the old admiral looked at me. She pretended to approve…hell she married us in her timeline! But when she looked at me, she was so sad. I couldn't bear to see that look in your eyes too. Plus, after what I did to you…" His voice got quiet, and he paused, considering his words carefully, "I was afraid you'd hate me."

She was incredulous. "Hate you, Chakotay?" Now it was her turn to caress his face with her hand, her fingers tracing his tattoo, sending a shiver up his spine. Then she put her other hand on his shoulder and looked directly into his eyes, as if boring a tunnel straight into his soul. "Listen to me, Chakotay. I could never…will never hate you. Please believe that."

And the moment she said it, he knew it was the truth. He took her hand from his forehead and clasped it again, and they gazed into each other's eyes and shared a healing silence while a few errant tears fell unbidden down her cheeks.

But all was still not right, and he was determined to soldier on. He didn't bother asking why she hadn't talked to him since they'd returned – he'd known all along that he was going to have to make the first move, but he'd never gotten up the courage to do so. Instead, he cut straight to his deepest concern.

"Kathryn, what's happened to you?" he asked. His voice was pleading, troubled, full of love and shame, the echo of another time he had uttered those very words to her. Four years ago, he had been worried about her sanity. She'd been so angry, so out of control. Now it was almost the opposite. She was calm, resigned, complacent. There was no fire in her eyes, no fight in her spirit.

She looked at him steadily. "I don't know what you mean." But she did.

He pretended as if he believed her. "You're thin, Kathryn. You look tired…and old."

She took her hands and clasped them in her lap. "I am old, Chakotay. I have already lived over five times as long as she did."

Despite himself, Chakotay chuckled. Kathryn Janeway, always the mathematician. But he stopped abruptly, realizing the meaning buried inside that statement. The admiral was feeling deep guilt, an emotion uncomfortably, tragically familiar to both of them.

And then she uttered an admission that chilled him to the bone. "There's nothing left for me here."

She hadn't meant to let that slip, but it had escaped her before she could censor it.

Chakotay could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to bury his face in his hands and cry. Instead, he took one finger, placed it under her chin, and turned her face up to him. He could see the fear in her eyes; she knew she'd said too much, but he was glad she had voiced what she was thinking. "Please," he begged, "don't ever say that again."


	4. Act I, Scene 1: Tenderness

As she looked up into his dark eyes, his finger gently but firmly forcing her gaze, she felt tears once again sting at her eyes. It seemed, once the proverbial bottle was uncorked, there was no shortage of liquid emotion to pour forth. She tried as best she could to get a handle on herself - it used to be that, when she felt like this, there would be an inevitable distraction, a communiqué or an attack, something to stop her train of thought from crashing into the brick wall of despair.

A distraction, that's what she needed.

No, this whole thing was a distraction. She'd called Chakotay for a reason, and this wasn't it. Pushing herself off the couch and out of range of his insidiously disarming touch, she walked to the window and paused at the view, realizing the conspicuous absence of the comforting star fields she had so often watched from space.

Carefully, after a few moments, she turned around, and his eyes were on her. He had been watching her, silently, tracking her movement curiously, wondering what she was going to do next, and he was ready to jump off the couch and catch her in his arms if need be.

"Chakotay," she spoke carefully, each syllable painfully pronounced. "I didn't mean to..." She reconsidered, and changed thoughts. "We have a memorial service to plan. That's why I called you."

His disappointment showed. He wanted nothing more than to continue holding her until she jumped up and embraced the world again. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Putting on his business face, he acknowledged her request. "Of course I'll help. What do you want to do first?"

At that, she blinked, clearly unprepared for this question. Disoriented, she stammered, "I...I guess...I hadn't thought that far ahead." Suddenly her head throbbed, and unconsciously, she brought her hand up to her forehead, rubbing her temple.

Instinctively, Chakotay picked up on the small gesture, rising to stand next to her, but maintaining a safe distance. "Do you want an analgesic?"

Again, she was taken by surprise. "What? Oh, no, I'm fine. I suppose I could use some coffee." And all at once, she realized that, invited or not, she had a houseguest, and was sorely negligent in her hosting duties. "Do you want some?"

At that, Chakotay's face broke into a smile, and he laughed. "Do you know what time it is?"

As she glanced at her clock, realizing the late hour, a wry smile briefly graced her features. "Oh dear," she said. "I need to be at work in," she calculated quickly, "five hours. And I suppose you do too!"

"Four and a half," he stated matter-of-factly, revealing no feeling towards the information. "I'm teaching a morning class this semester."

Her hands went to her cheeks. "Oh, Chakotay!" She cringed. "You'd better go."

"No," he answered firmly.

She was confused. "No?" she repeated. "But you won't have time to sleep if you stay here."

"What about you?" he asked. "Will you sleep if I go?"

Her momentary levity dissolved, and the solemn cloud once again descended upon them. She swallowed, and her silence gave him his answer.

"I thought as much." He frowned. Then, boldly, he gave her an order. "Come here." _Kathryn, do you trust me?_ Gently but firmly, he took her hand and pulled her back to the couch, where he sat her down, then joined her. Turning her away from him, he began to massage her shoulders and neck. He felt her relax under his ministrations, like she had so many years ago on New Earth, but this time he did not speak, and she did not suddenly tense and stop him.

Instead, she burst back into tears, the emotional resonance of the situation too much for her to manage in her weakened state. As her muscles had relaxed, so had her emotional barriers, already battered from the shocks of the night. That hadn't been his intention, but he was prepared for it. "I can't do this," she sobbed. She tried to pull away, her face hidden shamefully in her hands, but he held fast to her shoulders, and pulled her into his lap. "Cry," he urged. "Let it all out. I'm here." And, unable to do anything else, she buried her face in his shoulder and obeyed.

In his arms, he felt her shaking ever so slowly subside, and, after some time without movement, he knew she was asleep. It was only then that he allowed his own eyes to close, knowing his disciplined mental clock would awaken him at the appropriate time.

The next morning, Kathryn awoke in her bed, feeling surprisingly well rested. Glancing at her alarm clock and realizing she was already three hours late for work, she groaned. Then she noticed a PADD next to the alarm clock. She grabbed it.

_Dear Kathryn,_

_I thought you could use some extra sleep, so I took the liberty of putting you in bed and disabling your alarm. I told Starfleet Command that you were ill and wouldn't be at work today. Wait for me; I'll return after my classes; you can yell at me then._

_Love,  
Chakotay_

As the events of the previous night came back to her, Kathryn Janeway began to half-laugh, half-sob. And then she noticed the penultimate word of the note. Was it a careless oversight, borne of the sleepless night, or was it intentional? She wanted to believe the former - things would be so much simpler. But somehow she knew that her erstwhile first officer was more cunning than that, and she vowed to do more than yell at him when he returned.


	5. Act I, Scene 2: Crisis

Chakotay hated office hours. He was obligated to be there for his students, but they almost never came, and when they did, it was inevitably a trying experience. It didn't seem that students were this whiny and argumentative when he was at the academy, but then again, he hadn't ever gone to office hours. Furthermore, he hadn't had his formative years interrupted by a war so insidious, so cruel, that it took nearly a third of Federation officers' lives and caused people to mistrust each other in a way not seen for centuries. He was glad he had been far away in the Delta quadrant when the Founders had infiltrated the Academy, and when the most promising Academy cadets had been recruited to terrorize Earth and later, to serve on what ended up as a suicide mission on an overgunned ship. Thinking of those children - for that was what they were - forced into command roles they were unready for, led by a cocky young man drunk with power and misdirection, he was suddenly grateful again for the seven years of wise leadership from Captain Janeway.

Today, with the feel of Kathryn in his arms still lingering on his skin, warm and sweet and comforting, despite the unsettling circumstances, he made good use of his time between classes. He began tracking down _Voyager_ 's crew manifest, not sending any messages, but just gathering names and contact information. He hoped that Kathryn wasn't duplicating his work at home, but he didn't want to call her, in case she was still sleeping. Somehow, given her lack of plan last night, he suspected he was going to have to take initiative in this matter anyway.

He'd awoken as expected when the first rays of sunlight poked through the windows. She was still cradled in his lap on the couch, fast asleep, and, curiously, he was not at all sore from sleeping sitting up with a bundle of admiral in his arms. Gently, he'd picked her up, her supple limbs falling gracefully from her body, found her bedroom, and tucked her in. She'd been so on edge, and now she looked so peaceful, that he couldn't bear to think of her waking to the harsh sounds of an alarm and putting on her impassive mask to face the next day of a life that clearly wasn't agreeing with her as it was. An old adage came to his mind then, as he contemplated the source of her depression. _It is much easier for a common man to become a hero than for a hero to become a common man._

So he'd made sure the alarms were off, and left her a note to tell her what he'd done. He hoped that, after a good night's sleep, she wouldn't be too angry with him, but he'd be glad to endure her wrath if it meant the dark circles under her eyes had faded when he next saw her.

Most of the crew was easily locatable. Many had stayed with Starfleet, even some of the former Maquis, and their assignments were posted publicly. The rest had returned to their families, and he had the relevant contact information left over from before their return. As long as none of them had moved, and had not left a forwarding address, they'd be easy enough to contact.

However, there were three people he didn't immediately find. Billy Telfer, Tal Celes, and Harry Kim. Digging deeper, he found they'd last been - all three of them - on a vaguely described deep-space mission and had been declared missing. Harry, now a lieutenant commander, had been second officer on the mission. He knew at once that this must have been Top Secret - all the standard hand-waving was in the report. Looking at the mission logs - the public ones - he realized, a heavy knot of fear forming in his stomach, that they'd been close - very close - to Breen space. Chakotay knew very little about their torture techniques, but it was enough to make him shiver. From what he'd heard, they made the Cardassians look like gentlemen.

He wondered why Kathryn hadn't mentioned this. He realized that she'd be obligated to hide classified information - even from him - but something about everything she'd said last night made him suspect something else. She didn't know. And how would that be possible? Either Command had deliberately hidden the information from her, knowing she was too close to the situation and might compromise security by doing something rash - a plausible explanation - or, and the next possibility scared him desperately - she'd had access to the information and hadn't been paying attention. Was it possible that Admiral Kathryn Janeway had sunk so deeply into depression that she could fail to notice a report on the disappearance of one of the dearest members of their _Voyager_ family? Her words from the previous night haunted his memory. _There's nothing left for me here._

Before he could continue his train of thought, he realized that it was time for his next class, and he gathered his notes and hustled out the door. The lecture went off smoothly, despite the troubled thoughts eating at the back of his mind, and he was grateful that none of the students gathered to talk to him after class. There was no homework due, and no exam recently returned, so they had no reason to complain today. As soon as was humanly possible, Chakotay found himself once again at Kathryn's apartment, but this time he didn't need to break in.

"Come in," she answered idly when the doorbell chimed. He walked in and found her leaning against a doorframe, sipping coffee. She had a peculiar look on her face.

Kathryn wanted to say so many things to him. She wanted to be angry, and hurt. Statements and accusations raced through her head, competing for escape via her lips. _You humiliated me last night. Get out. I don't want to see you again. Don't expect me to forgive you. You lied on my behalf. What gave you the right? You took advantage of me..._

However, what eventually came out was a simple, "thank you." And if Chakotay had expected anything else, his surprise didn't show. The disturbing information he'd found earlier was eating at him and he needed her help. He didn't doubt that, even if, as he suspected, she wasn't aware of the situation, she had the security clearance to find out what had happened to their three former underlings. It was just a question of looking in the right place.

As she looked at him, her years of familiarity with this tender-hearted man allowed her to sense his urgency. "What is it, Chakotay?" she asked, calmly, not ready to jump to conclusions. As he stepped cautiously towards her, she searched his eyes for a clue, and found worry, fear, and determination.

"Kathryn," he warned as he put a steadying hand on her shoulder, "you'd better sit down."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but motioned for him to sit first. She gestured at the couch they had fallen asleep on the previous night. When they were seated, he quickly briefed her on what he'd found.

After he mentioned Harry's name, he thought for a moment that her tears from the previous night would return, but, instead, a curious transformation took place before his eyes. It was as if a fire had been lit inside of her, and suddenly her posture straightened, and determination shone in her eyes. After two years with nothing to do, she finally had a purpose.

Despite the dire situation, Chakotay felt the warmth of hope rising in his belly.


	6. Act I, Scene 3: The Secret Room

"I think it's high time I gave you a tour of the apartment, don't you think?" said Kathryn to the large, worried man sitting next to her on her couch.

To Chakotay, it seemed like a nonsequitor, and he was startled. "That's okay…there's other things that…"

She interrupted him, speaking softly. Even sotto voce, her voice could silence a room full of rambunctious cadets – he'd often wished he had her by his side in class to tame his rowdy students. "Trust me, Chakotay," was all she said, and he was immediately ready to do anything she asked.

Somehow, he knew to be silent for the next few minutes, as she handed him her coffee and guided him towards a door he hadn't noticed before. Had it even been there? It was locked with a complicated touch panel, labeled with markings that weren't Federation standard. He recognized some of the letters as ancient Greek, and others as Vulcan and Klingon. She typed a code that seemed to take a full minute to input, and the door slid open, revealing a staircase leading down. She stepped inside and motioned for him to follow, and only after the door had slid shut behind them did the lights go on, illuminating a small study at the bottom of the steps.

They descended into the study, and when they were both inside the room, another door slid closed, blocking the staircase from view. She looked meaningfully at him, and he knew he could speak now.

Although the charade made him uneasy, and he had a feeling that whatever they were doing wasn't quite Kosher, he made a joke. "I never figured you for the secret room type, Kathryn. Is this where you keep your Superwoman outfits?"

She laughed, the melodious sound welcome to his ears, reminding him of some of their more lighthearted moments together on _Voyager_. He'd missed her laugh. He forgot, for a minute, that less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd been a nervous wreck, and saw only the commanding officer with the ability to scare the living daylights out of any subordinate who even thought of disobeying her and the even more remarkable ability to effortlessly cheer any officer in need of reassurance.

"Hardly," she answered. "I keep those in the bedroom." The corners of her mouth remained turned upwards as she wrested her coffee from his fingers, and he wondered, idly, if she was intentionally flirting with him.

After a sip of coffee, she motioned for him to sit in one of two desk chairs facing a small screen. He sat, but turned around to face her, as she was still standing. "One of the perks of being a Starfleet Admiral," she finally revealed, "is the ability to read your classified mail at home."

"This," she continued, motioning all around her, "is a micro-secure facility. Ideal for what we are about to do."

"And what might that be?" asked Chakotay, dubiously.

"We're going to find out what happened to our people," she answered firmly, her voice an echo of countless times she had been determined to save one of their own.

He sighed with relief, but felt the nagging sensation that he didn't belong here.

She answered his unspoken question. "I could be executed for showing you this. The laws are still on the books, you know."

The statement was delivered so dryly that he couldn't tell whether or not she was joking, and the panic must have shown on his face, because she immediately put down her coffee and sat down next to him, her hand tenderly touching his chest. "Don't worry, Chakotay…I could clear you for this if I needed to, but somehow, I don't think we have time for the paperwork."

He nodded hesitantly, and she turned on the computer and began scanning through documents. Finally finding what she was looking for, she sat back and cursed.

"Kathryn?" he asked, placing his hand on top of hers.

"Why didn't I see this before?" she whispered, her eyes wide, her posture open and vulnerable.

He frowned, remembering his own musings on the issue. He knew that, if he were to bring up his own theory, he would need to tread lightly, so as to neither alarm nor anger her. He pursed his lips and took in a deep breath before he began. "Is it possible that you simply…missed it? Kathryn, you haven't been well…"

He halted abruptly when he saw her face and realized that he hadn't tread lightly enough, and she was furious. She rose from her chair and glared at him, that famous look that made him yearn for the floor to open up below him and swallow him up forever. "Chakotay, are you suggesting that I could just…ignore…a memo that tells me that Harry Kim has been captured by the Breen and is, most probably, having his entrails tied into knots while he watches, fully conscious?"

He shuddered at her indelicacy. "I didn't mean…I was worried about you, and…" he stammered.

"Just stop," she ordered. "That report wasn't there before. It's the only explanation."

He didn't really believe her, but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut.

Then her face darkened, and she sat down again, sideways, her knees bent and her hands gripping the arm of the chair.

"Chakotay," she stated, fear filling her voice, "I think it's a trap."

Somehow, he knew she wasn't finished. "But?" he prompted her.

Then she looked directly at him, with a determination that matched any he'd ever seen from her before, as her legs unbent and her feet met the floor. "But I intend to pursue this anyway. Trap or not, the fact remains that three of our people…including Harry…may die soon if they're not rescued, and I don't intend to let that happen. I sacrificed…" she looked at him, and he wondered whether that word was directed at him in particular, but then she corrected herself, "we sacrificed too much to get them here to let them leave so soon. We've already lost too many."

Then her voice hitched, and she paused from the tirade. He grabbed her hands in his. "I miss her so much," she admitted, a lone tear escaping her eye. "It's so silly, I wasn't in contact with her at all, but just knowing she's gone forever…" Her voice trailed off, and she sniffled.

"I know," he commiserated. He wanted to give her a hug, but now was not the time, not in a secure room he wasn't supposed to be in with the imminent death of their former crewmen hanging over their heads. "Whatever you want to do, I'm with you," he promised.

"Good," she replied, giving him a watery smile. "Because I have a plan."


	7. Act II, Scene 1: Loyalty

Apprehension hovered like a cloud of smoke around the former command team. They stood outside the cargo bay of _Voyager_ , and he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, much as he had nearly a decade ago when the crew had been given their first opportunity to disembark to a permanent home in the Delta Quadrant.

She wanted them all here. She needed them. But she also didn't wish to bring them into danger yet again. Rescue missions were a dangerous business. But she couldn't just sit back – as Starfleet Command would have her do – and count casualties among the living.

Admiral Paris had warned her.

" _I urge you to leave this matter aside. The Federation was weakened by the war with the Dominion; we simply haven't the resources to involve ourselves in another war now. An official rescue operation could incite such a war, not to mention that your crewmen are most probably dead already."_

" _I understand. But it doesn't change anything." She was going to stand firm about this._

" _You could be court-martialed, you know," he warned. Was there a sparkle in his eye as he said that? Then his face was stern. "If you survive."_

" _Yes, I know," she answered, her voice carefully controlled._

_He peered at her curiously. "You always were your father's daughter. Very well. I suppose the only appropriate place to have Kes's memorial would be aboard the ship that was her home. I believe she's still in spacedock; not much use for an Intrepid-class vessel these days. You shouldn't have any trouble borrowing her for a few hours. After that, it's up to you."_

" _Thank you, Owen," she replied, holding back tears of gratitude. Then she stood up to leave, awaiting dismissal._

" _Wait," he cautioned, holding up his hand to stop her, and she froze obediently. He walked around his desk to a locked cabinet and punched in a code, then spun an old-fashioned electronic combination lock. Opening the drawer, he removed a small object, then closed the cabinet and spun the dial. He walked to her, pressed the object into her hand, and closed her fingers around it. His eyes told her not to ask any questions._

_Then he hugged her. His tight grip betrayed the fear he felt for her fate. "Good luck, Admiral," he said as they broke apart. "I hope to see you again soon."_

_She nodded, not trusting herself to reply with words._

" _One more thing, Kathryn." She stood at attention. "This conversation never happened."_

She hoped they were still alive, that this mission wouldn't be in vain. She looked up at Chakotay for reassurance, then took a deep breath, faced forward, and entered the room.

The doors parted, revealing lines of officers and civilians, standing at attention. She quickly counted. One hundred forty-four, including Naomi Wildman, her Ktarian father, and several other strangers who Kathryn could only guess were the significant others of her former crewmen. Had they not gotten the message? Did they believe this was just a memorial service? She would have to give them an opportunity to leave.

She walked down the aisle formed by the lines of her former crewmen, and recalled the day they had parted. She met the eyes of each and every one as she passed, and saw unconditional devotion on their faces. Their continuing loyalty surprised and touched her, and she struggled to maintain composure while giving them each a slight smile of acknowledgement. Chakotay traveled the distance at her side, slightly behind her, his shoulder grazing her back. He wanted her to know that he was there, and she was grateful for his subtle support.

When she had passed the entire line, she turned around to face them, and her former first officer broke from her side and joined the other crewmen. Briefly, she turned to him, and he nodded at her. Then, the entire population of the cargo bay turned to face her, still standing at attention.

She cleared her throat.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for being here. As you know, a dear member of our crew passed away last week. It seemed appropriate that her memorial service should be aboard the vessel that was her home for nearly a third of her life." The admiral paused, looking around, seeing nothing but rapt attention from her audience.

She took a breath and went on. "And we will remember her, but I would like to wait to do it properly until every one of her closest friends is able to attend. As some of you may know, three of our colleagues - our family – are currently in the custody of a formidable enemy that Starfleet cannot afford to go to war with right now. There will be no official rescue mission. There will only be us. Historically, rescue operations have cost more lives than they have saved, but to leave our wounded and dead in the hands of an enemy without a fight would be profoundly inhuman. Any of you that do not wish to participate in this operation are urged to leave at once; nobody will think any less of you."

She looked around. Nobody looked surprised, and nobody moved. She gave them a minute, and there was still silence and attention.

"Very well. You all have my profound gratitude. I have no doubt we will be successful. Let's get to work. We have about three hours to make this ship disappear."


	8. Act II, Scenes 2 and 3: Preparations

Amid the hustle and bustle of a crew busily reacquainting themselves with the ship, struggling to quickly get systems, unused for two years and partially disassembled for study, back on line, Admiral Janeway found B'Elanna Torres in Engineering.

"B'Elanna," she called out as she jogged towards her former engineering chief. The half-Klingon woman looked up at her, concentration and annoyance etched on her face.

The admiral stopped by her side. "How are things progressing?"

"Okay, Cap-er, Admiral." Kathryn smiled at the slip, then quickly hid it. "We've got impulse, but it'll be a little longer before warp engines are online. Maybe half an hour?"

Janeway nodded. "Good work, B'Elanna." Then, her tone took on a more personal nature, and she spoke softly, assuring she would not be overheard by the other engineers, who were busily tending to their own tasks. "How is Miral? I haven't seen her in a few months."

Despite herself, B'Elanna smiled. "She's doing great. She seems to learn a new word every day, and she's speaking Klingon almost as well as Standard."

"That's wonderful," said Janeway, feeling very much like a proud grandmother. Then, she was serious again. "You know, I won't blame you if you want to stay after we finish repairs. There should be enough time to get you out. Miral's such a beautiful child, I wouldn't want…" Her voice trailed off.

B'Elanna was angry, and nearly growled her response. "Miral will be fine with Tom's father. You know I won't abandon this crew, or Harry."

Kathryn gave her an understanding nod, placing her hand on B'Elanna's shoulder. "Thank you, B'Elanna."

Then, sensing her former captain's unease, the Klingon's tone softened. "You'll get us back safely. We'll be okay."

Again, the trust shown by her former crew touched the admiral deeply, and Kathryn had to fight tears. Giving the engineer's shoulder one last quick squeeze, she dropped her arm and turned to leave, then stopped and spun around again. "B'Elanna, I almost forgot."

She pulled the small object from a pouch on her belt, and handed it to B'Elanna. "I don't know what this is, but I have it on good authority that we could make use of it. Do you think you could find out for me?"

B'Elanna paled and for a moment, Kathryn thought she might faint. "There's no need," said B'Elanna. "I know what it is, and we can definitely make good use of it."

At that, Admiral Janeway raised an eyebrow, silently urging her engineer to continue.

"It's a cloaking device…or rather, everything we need to build one. We'll have to replicate some parts, but I recognize the markings…I've seen the specs for the Defiant."

"How quickly do you think you can get it installed?" Kathryn asked.

"I'm not sure; I've never built a cloaking device for a starship before. Maybe a day or two?"

Janeway shook her head. "I have a feeling we're going to need it to get out of here. We can probably manage for a little while with the element of surprise on our side, but we'll need it soon. You've got four hours."

Accustomed to being asked to perform miracles, B'Elanna nodded, and her former captain turned and left, heading for Astrometrics, where Seven was working on plotting their course, using the classified logs of Harry's ship to retrace their steps.

When asked why she wanted to attend Kes's memorial service, as she'd only known the Ocampa for a few days, Seven had pointed out that Kes, shortly before her departure from the ship, had saved her life, and that it would be improper not to participate in her remembrance. Of course, she'd heard about the secret mission, and was eager to once again provide assistance to Harry and the rest of the crew that had become her "new collective" over the years.

However, she had an ulterior motive as well. After breaking up with Chakotay, she had explored numerous other relationships. Most had not gone beyond the first date. She'd tried seeing scholars, soldiers, and even a farmer, but had become increasingly frustrated with her exploits. They'd all been…nice. And that was it. They didn't challenge her, and she found it far too easy to manipulate them. Not a single one neglected to stare at her breasts when they thought she wasn't looking, and she needed only to shed a few tears to get them to do whatever she pleased. It was too easy.

She wanted Chakotay back. Her research suggested that "true love" would always triumph, and she found many examples of couples reuniting after separation.

She'd called him to Astrometrics, and he arrived promptly. After a few minutes of "business" – she'd learned that pretense was important to maintain in a situation like this – she approached his side, and whispered, almost in his ear, "I've missed you."

He was startled, and looked up to meet her gaze. However, he couldn't think of anything to say, so he looked back down at the panel and continued working.

Obviously frustrated by his lack of reply, she tried a different tactic. "I'm sorry I broke off our relationship. It was a mistake to do so. I wish to 'get back together.'"

Chakotay nearly choked, stopped what he was doing and looked directly at her. "What makes you so sure it was a mistake, Seven?"

"Because all of the other relationships I have sampled have been…unfulfilling," she replied directly.

"Maybe you just haven't found the right person yet," he suggested.

"I have," she responded. "You."

Chakotay thought he'd never been more uncomfortable in his life. The last week he'd spent a lot of time with Kathryn, and while neither of them had attempted any romantic interactions, he was alerted to the fact that his feelings for her were still strong, and he believed hers for him were too. At first, Kathryn had been particularly vulnerable, and he didn't want to take advantage of her, and then they'd been too busy planning the mission to do anything else. It was all he could do to get her to eat a few meals and sleep for a few hours each night, and as a result, she was looking healthier. He wondered what the crew's reaction would have been if she'd appeared looking more like she had that night she'd called him. He didn't doubt they'd still be loyal, but they might have been more fearful and hesitant about the operation.

But spirits help him, he still found Seven incredibly attractive. But now, more than ever, he was sure he didn't love her – at least, that he wasn't in love with her.

And then the former Borg began to cry. Her lower lip trembled, and a few tears ran down her cheeks. "Do you no longer find me desirable?" she queried.

Chakotay had only ever seen Seven cry once before, when she'd tried to break off their relationship while they were still in the Delta Quadrant. Admiral Janeway – the older one – had suggested to Seven that "his feelings for her would cause him distress." And as he was then, he was completely disarmed.

"Please," he begged her. "Don't cry. I still think you're incredibly attractive." Hesitantly, he held her shoulders, silently willing her to stop. But she took his words and gesture to mean something else.

Before he knew it, she was kissing him, and she'd obviously been practicing, for her skills could only be described as…perfection. Torn between the desires of his body and the cool reason hidden somewhere in his brain, he found himself kissing her back.

It was in this compromising position that Admiral Janeway found them when she walked in to check on Seven's progress.

Hearing the door, he pushed Seven away and looked up just in time to see the flash of hurt and anger on his former captain's face. However, as quickly as it had appeared, it was skillfully transformed into a cold, unwavering mask.

She refused to acknowledge what she'd just seen. "Report," she ordered.

They quickly appraised her of their progress. "Carry on," she replied with a glare that told them she didn't mean what they were doing just before she walked in.

Then she turned on her heel and exited Astrometrics. Confident in her own ability to compartmentalize her feelings and concentrate on the task at hand, she swallowed her pain and willed herself to put it out of her mind.

Meanwhile, he hesitated, contemplating whether chasing after Kathryn would hurt Seven beyond repair. They needed the former Borg; he was sure of it, and if she was feeling hurt and rejected, she might refuse to cooperate. He was more confident of Kathryn's ability to work through personal difficulties; she'd done it many times before.

So while he desperately wanted to run after his former captain, throw himself at her feet, and beg for her forgiveness, he stayed in Astrometrics. "Are you okay?" he asked the blonde.

She pouted at him angrily. "I am undamaged." Then they went back to work, as they'd been ordered.


	9. Act II, Scene 4: Escape

After touring the major areas of the ship that were undergoing repairs, trying her best to encourage all her former crewmen, Admiral Janeway returned to Engineering, where she found B'Elanna Torres hunched over a large, unfamiliar-looking metal structure.

"B'Elanna," she uttered quietly, not wanting to startle the Klingon, who appeared to be deep in concentration. The engineer looked up. "We've got impulse and warp engines now, but I'm still working on the cloak. What can I do for you, Admiral?" she asked, coolly.

"Actually," Kathryn answered, "I was wondering what I could do for you. Can I help?"

A slight smile flickered across B'Elanna's face, and she sighed. "Well, I do need someone to go into the Jefferies tubes and reroute power to the phase couplings. This thing's a monster." Then, cringing, "I know it's not, well...you know, but my people are all busy with the other systems..." She felt sheepish asking the admiral to do something so mundane, but knew that Janeway had the relevant expertise, plus, especially in case the thing didn't work, she didn't want to spread rumors about their new feature.

Kathryn nodded, looking worried. "Of course. Let me see the schematic." Then, as she studied the specs, "will this work?"

B'Elanna nodded. "It should. If I can just get these phases to line up..." Then, intrigued by something she saw, she returned to fiddling with the metal object. Janeway then left her, walked to the nearest access panel, removed it, and entered the tubes.

While she was working on the circuitry, she mulled over the information she had. Why was that ship flying so close to Breen space? What had they found? The only clue was a cryptic audio-only log from Harry before they'd disappeared.

_Acting Captain's Log, Stardate Unknown,_

_After completing our survey of the Galaktan System, we were attacked. The captain and first officer are dead, along with twenty-seven other crewmen. We've lost life support, and it's uncertain how much longer we can survive. We're going to have to land on the nearest planet, which we are currently moving towards at half-impulse, but without sensors, we can't tell even what class of planet it is, let alone whether it is inhabited. Our other mission turned up some interesting results. I have reason to believe that an old enemy is here, working with the Breen. I can't say any more than that; it would just be speculation, and the implications if I'm right may be disastrous for the Federation. Lieutenant Commander Harry Kim out._

Who could this "old enemy" be? The Cardassians and Romulans were as weakened from the war as the Federation, and she couldn't imagine that the Klingons would trust the Breen. What was it the Emperor had called them? Dishonorable Targs?

She could think of someone she might be calling a dishonorable targ right now...

 _Stop, Kathryn_. She willed herself not to think about it, but the image of her former first officer locked in a passionate embrace with her protégé was etched in her memory. She told herself that she had no right to interfere, that this was their business, but her heart disagreed.

Before she could stop it, she felt a knot in her throat and her eyes began to sting. Soon afterwards, she became aware of wetness dribbling down her cheeks. _Oh god, not now_. She stuffed her fist in her mouth to muffle a sob that came rising up out of her, unbidden and unwelcome. _Fine admiral I am_ , she thought, _hiding in a Jefferies tube, weeping like a jilted lover_. Deeply ashamed but unable to stop herself, she dropped her tool, curled into a ball, and quietly cried until the beep of her communicator summoned her out of her sorrow.

"Torres to Janeway," she heard. Coughing, she tried to calm her voice, even as tears were still coursing down her face. After a moment, she tapped her communicator.

"Janeway here." _Oh god, what was it I was supposed to be doing? Rerouting the power. Yes, I've finished that_. "I've rerouted power. What have you got?" She knew her voice sounded huskier than usual, but prayed that B'Elanna wouldn't notice.

"We've got all the necessary systems to get out of here, when you're ready," answered the engineer. "Plus, the memorial's scheduled to end in ten minutes."

 _Calm yourself, Kathryn_. "Acknowledged," replied the admiral. She was going to have to compose herself before appearing on the bridge. "Janeway out."

Employing her best meditation techniques while wiping her eyes, hoping that the evidence of her loss of control wouldn't be too apparent, she tapped her communicator again and, one by one, summoned the bridge crew while crawling quickly out of the access tunnels.

When she arrived on the bridge, having taken a circuitous route in order to stop at a vacant crew quarters, splash water on her face, and check her appearance in a mirror, all her former bridge crew were already at their stations. They stood when she entered, and Chakotay announced, "Admiral on the bridge."

Ignoring the constricting of her throat, she made her way to the familiar captain's chair and sat down. Chakotay sat down at her side, eyeing her with concern, but she refused to look at him.

"Mister Paris," she asked, "have you ever taken a ship into warp straight out of dry dock?"

"No, ma'am," he replied, "but I can do it." He typed in some commands.

"Good," she said. "Maximum warp. Engage."

She felt the familiar sensation of going to warp, and touched the edge of her chair tenderly, caressing it like an old lover with whom she'd been recently reunited. _An apt comparison_ , she thought, _I wish it were enough_.

"How long before we enter Breen space?" she asked.

"At current speed and heading, two hundred sixty-seven hours and forty-three minutes," Tuvok replied.

"We're going to need to periodically change course and speed to keep the Feds off our tail," chimed in Paris.

"And I take it you can take care of that?" Janeway asked her helmsman.

"Yes, ma'am," he stated confidently.

"I'll be in my ready room," she said, rising from her chair and approaching the doors. But before the doors opened, she turned back to Paris, and queried, "Feds?"

He blushed a bit. "Just an old Maquis nickname."


	10. Entr'acte

A fortnight can seem like the blink of an eye, or it can feel like a lifetime. To Admiral Janeway, it was both.

During the fourteen days they traveled, there was little outside trouble, largely due to the impressive cloaking device that B'Elanna had enabled within two hours after they had disembarked. If the 'Feds' were looking for them, they weren't having much success.

Indeed, the trouble was contained within the walls of the heavily-armored ship, transformed two years ago with technology from the future for the purpose of fighting a great battle. The ship was ready for another such battle. Its erstwhile captain was another story.

The first night she returned to her quarters was a bittersweet reunion. She sat at the viewport for two hours, mesmerized by the star fields, before she forced herself to lie in the bed. She did not, however, sleep much that night, or any night during their journey. Luckily, there was coffee in abundance in the Alpha Quadrant, and she'd made sure to stock up before they'd departed. Each morning the bitter liquid slipped down her throat, shocking her senses back into the dull waking world of waiting, while her mind puzzled over the mystery of the 'old enemy' and her heart puzzled over something else entirely.

He'd tried to speak with her, right after they'd left. He'd gone into her ready room - her confident composure and facile banter with Paris may have fooled the rest of the crew, but not him - and attempted to explain himself. She didn't want to hear it, afraid that his words would break whatever resolve she had left, knowing she needed that resolve to do what it took to complete her mission. "It's none of my business," she'd said, holding up a hand to stop his confession. "I don't want to hear about it." He'd opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by the iciest stare he'd ever chanced to encounter. "Dismissed," she'd ordered. And, as always, he obeyed.

Burdened with guilt and the continuing concern for his ex-Borg ex-girlfriend, he hadn't tried again. The only interaction he had with her after that was strictly business. They'd done that before, too, and returned the cold, efficient relationship of captain and first officer with disturbing ease. Together, they gathered the scant information that was available, discerning the likely location of the people they hoped to rescue.

Without the inspiration of their Talaxian guide, who remained tens of thousands of light years away where they had left him in his new home, there were no parties to entertain the crew during the two-week journey. During the few hours when Tom was neither sleeping nor necessary at the helm, he'd reloaded some favorite holodeck scenarios for the enjoyment of the crew. But few came.

It wasn't that they were busy; indeed, there was very little to do while they waited to arrive at their target. Tuvok scheduled battle drills, which helped to occupy the time, but in their off-hours, the crew remained aloof. Perhaps it was the tense nature of the assignment, the knowledge that they could return as outlaws, subject to punishment for their actions. Perhaps it was the simple anticipation that the mission would be too short to need breaks for leisure. Or perhaps Kathryn Janeway's funk had pervaded the entire ship.

Tuvok, too, had tried to reach her. He'd attempted a different tactic, approaching her in her quarters shortly after her duty shift ended, four days after they had left space dock. "I am concerned," he had stated, "about your health. You are not a Vulcan, and cannot be expected to subvert emotional responses in the same manner."

"Are you accusing me of being emotionally unbalanced, Tuvok?" she'd asked plainly. He'd raised an eyebrow, and expected her to respond with anger. However, she'd simply smiled sadly and told him that she was fine, that he oughtn't worry himself with anything but the battle drills. His loyalty to and respect for his former captain had dominated his concern, and he hadn't pressed further.

When they arrived in Breen space, they'd traced the survivors of the emergency landing to a work camp on a barely M-class planet. It was the only good news they'd recovered, for slavery was a far better fate than torture, and meant that there was a very good chance of finding their people alive.

The ship couldn't approach the planet on which the Federation citizens were being held. Its gravitational signature would surely be detected, and while _Voyager_ could probably survive a fight with the Breen defense forces surrounding the planet, the encounter would likely be seen as a declaration of war, despite the unauthorized nature of the mission. So they left the ship hiding behind a moon, and took the rebuilt Delta Flyer, newly outfitted with its own cloaking device.

Admiral Janeway decided that the rescue party should be small. She didn't want to risk any more lives than necessary, and the fewer people they sent, the less likely they would run into trouble. So she assigned Tom Paris to fly the shuttle, while she, Seven of Nine, and Mike Ayala would search for - and hopefully rescue - their people.

When she announced the Away Party, Chakotay rose from his chair, incensed. Daring to question her orders in front of her crew, he requested to be included among them.

"Why?" she asked, perhaps foolishly.

 _To look out for you_ , he thought, but he said nothing aloud, and let his eyes communicate his meaning. Years of familiarity sent his message loud and clear, and he saw the anger of insult flash across her face in response. He wasn't going to let that stop him, however, and she knew it, so, perhaps wisely, she agreed to let him come along.

So there it was - five members in an elite team determined to snatch the prisoners and escape without detection, currently riding in a cloaked shuttle towards the surface of a planet on which they hoped they would find three former _Voyager_ crewmen and their surviving current crewmates.

If all went well, Harry Kim could tell them about the 'old enemy' on the way home. But all would not go well.


	11. Act III, Scene 1: Operation Rescue Harry

They arrived under the cover of night, the Flyer left nearly half a kilometer away so as to evade detection. Transporters would not work here; there was a dampening field around the whole area. They hiked towards the camp, attempting absolute silence. Luckily, the ground was mostly rock, and they would not leave an easy trail to follow.

The first sign that they had arrived at their destination was the putrid stench. Then, as they approached the encampment, they became aware of the sights and sounds of suffering. The sick and infirm, wrapped in rags, huddled on the ground, moaning for water and food. Those that were mobile stepped lithely over and around the bodies of their comrades as if they were no more than inanimate logs. Here and there, a Breen guard stood at attention, no doubt waiting to execute any who posed a threat to security.

Prepared to blend in, they too wore rags, with weapons and tricorders carefully concealed underneath, and flaps of fabric covering their communicators. However, any who saw them up close would see that they weren't nearly dirty enough to be prisoners.

Seven wore a dull-colored scarf around her head to hide her Borg implants, and the impediment to her peripheral vision annoyed her. Turning her head, she glanced at Chakotay, who looked disturbed by the sights before them. _Perhaps he is in need of comfort_ , she thought to herself, still trying to figure out how to reobtain him in a romantic capacity. Since the first day in Astrometrics, she had not been successful in kissing him – during the few moments they were alone, she'd tried to get close to him, but he'd been elusive. She postulated that he needed time to get over the embarrassment of being caught by their former captain, as he had not indicated any outright rejection.

Hiding in the shadows, they tiptoed through the camp, hoping to evade the notice of the guards.

They found Celes first. Kathryn recognized her and pulled her into a rocky alcove, covering her mouth so she would not scream. Then, so as to minimize the Bajoran's alarm, she whispered in her ear, "it's Kathryn Janeway, Celes; we're here to rescue you."

At that, Celes turned around and flung herself into the admiral's arms, weeping. "Billy's dead," she sobbed.

The older woman held the girl close, patting her back. "Sssh," she soothed, "we have to be quiet." Then she pulled away slightly, keeping Celes at arm's length with her hands on the Bajoran's shoulders. "Now can you tell me who is alive from your ship? I'm hoping we can get all of them."

Tearfully, Celes nodded and began listing names, finishing after ten, not including herself. _Eleven survivors out of a crew of nearly fifty_ , Admiral Janeway thought sadly. Harry's name was not among them.

Kathryn swallowed, prepared for the worst. She motioned for Chakotay, Seven, and Ayala to begin rounding up the prisoners, and then she addressed Celes again. "What about Harry Kim?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Celes looked scared. "I…I'm not sure," she stammered. "Last I saw him he was very sick; he'd gotten the same thing that killed Billy. First they stopped eating, then they got fever, and…" Tears coursed down her face, and she couldn't continue.

Kathryn rubbed Celes's shoulders, hoping to impart as much comfort as possible. "Do you know where he is?" she asked. Celes nodded hesitantly. "Take us to him," the admiral ordered.

Celes led Tom and Kathryn inside a cave, where the odor was nearly overwhelming. Kathryn attempted to breathe through her mouth and as little as possible. Celes pointed at a figure huddled in a corner, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, shivering. Kathryn raced towards him, and indeed it was Harry, covered in a sheen of sweat. She shook him gently, calling his name.

"Mom?" he called, softly. "I don't feel good." Then he whimpered, pitifully, and the admiral bit her lip and looked over at Tom, who was already scanning his friend. He shook his head at the women, and said only, "it's bad."

Janeway took a deep breath, the foul air burning her lungs. "Can you get him to the Flyer on your own?" she asked the pilot. Tom nodded, bent down, and lifted Harry over his shoulder.

The admiral and Celes returned to the main camp and began rounding up crewmen. They'd find one or two, run them through the shadows back to the flyer, then return for more. Meanwhile, Ayala, Seven, and Chakotay were doing the same thing.

They had almost retrieved the entire surviving compliment of Harry's ship when a Breen soldier finally noticed their movement and began to shoot.

Ayala was hit in the leg, and collapsed to the ground, wincing in pain. Janeway ran to him and helped him up, and supported him as much as possible as she spirited him to the nearest alcove, then moved to the next one.

Meanwhile, Seven and Chakotay found themselves in the middle of a fight. As they hid behind a rock, periodically turning around to fire at the guards, Seven looked at Chakotay with wide eyes and whispered, "I'm frightened." Then she held out her hand to him, and he took it, and in that moment of distraction, they were both rendered unconscious by guards who had slyly crept up behind them and fired.

From her hiding place, with Ayala leaning against her, Kathryn saw the Breen guards dragging her two crewmembers away, and knew that she would not be able to retrieve them immediately. So, using the guards' occupation with Seven and Chakotay as a cover, she quickly got Ayala back to the Flyer, where Tom and ten survivors, including Celes and Harry, awaited.

"How's Harry?" she asked Tom. He shook his head. "We need to get him back to the ship."

"All right," she conceded. "Get us out of here. We'll come back for Chakotay, Seven, and the last two survivors later."


	12. Act III, Scene 2: The Talk

As a Borg, Seven of Nine was accustomed to remaining indefinitely in any number of humanly uncomfortable positions.

None of them was hanging upside down.

Her stomach was protesting, her head was swimming, and her muscles were aching. The only comfort was that Chakotay was with her. The only reason she knew that, however, was because she could hear him groaning.

It was pitch black, and cold. She shivered a bit.

"Chakotay?" she queried, wanting to make sure that the groan was indeed coming from him.

"I'm here," he said. "Are you okay?"

"I am not sure," she responded. "I think I might be…"

She could not finish her sentence, for at that moment, the contents of her stomach decided to obey gravity and spill out onto the floor below.

Then he followed suit.

"I feel a little better now," he stated. "Do you?"

She thought about it for a minute, and then replied. "No, I do not."

"I'd offer to help you in some way, Seven, but I doubt there's anything I can do. I'm a little…tied up at the moment."

She identified the attempt at humor, but did not laugh. "That was a pun," she observed.

"Yes, Seven, it was." Chakotay was beginning to realize that Seven was pretty much the last person he wanted to be tortured with. Maybe the second-to-last…he'd probably choose her over Tuvok. _Please rescue us soon, Kathryn_ , he thought. _I promise I'll do anything you say for the rest of my life_. "I'm attempting to make a little bit of light out of this situation because otherwise, I will go mad."

"Curious," she said, "that something as simple as hanging upside down could affect one's sanity."

It was a good thing it was dark, because Chakotay's face couldn't hide his ire. He really wanted to reprimand Seven, but he couldn't help thinking he shared part of the blame for her misdirection. However, she beat him to the punch.

"I'm sorry we got captured. If I hadn't grabbed your hand, we may have been able to escape."

 _I'm glad you realize that now, Seven_ , he thought bitterly, but decided to take pity on her. "It's okay. We all make mistakes. You were frightened."

"No, I wasn't," she admitted. _Was that a hint of shame in her voice?_

"Then why did you say you were?" he protested, suddenly very angry.

"It has in the past been an effective mechanism for getting a male human to touch me," she stated honestly.

He squeezed his eyes closed, suddenly feeling like he was going to be sick again. Was now the right time to be lecturing her on relationship etiquette? He supposed it was as good a time as any, and would certainly distract them from their pain.

"Seven," he began, "you can't just…manipulate someone into being intimate with you."

"Why not?" she asked. "What makes it different than anything else for which the most efficient method is used?"

"It just is," he stated, realizing he was very tired and that this argument was going to take a lot of energy.

"Explain," she demanded. _Do I have to?_

"There are other things for which the most efficient method isn't always used. There are things more important than efficiency. Like the Prime Directive. If we have an enemy, and they have an enemy, but their enemy is technologically inferior to us, we can't just give them weapons and hope they destroy our enemy."

"There are many historical instances of humans doing that," Seven objected.

"Yes, and then later, they've had to deal with a lot of unpleasant consequences. Which is why they've decided it's wrong. Just like toying with someone's feelings is wrong."

She was silent for a minute. "I am not toying. I am simply attempting to obtain an objective. Is that not what dating is about?"

Suddenly Chakotay felt very queasy. He opened his mouth to speak but instead threw up again.

And then she followed his lead.

"I do feel a little bit better now," she said.

 _That's one of us_. "I'm glad," he stated, not entirely sarcastically. He did feel bad for her. For a moment, he started to realize how utterly unfulfilling her relationships must have been. But he felt worse for her dates.

They were silent again then, and he must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was being taken into an interrogation chamber.


	13. Act III, Scene 3: Torture

Roughly, Chakotay was tossed and strapped into a metal chair that felt as uncomfortable as it looked. The room was even colder than his previous location, and quite dark. However, despite the cold, he found himself sweating.

One of the soldiers touched his head, and it began to pound. _Not a headache on top of all this; I doubt they'll have analgesics for my comfort_.

Then the soldiers left him alone, and he waited for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, the lights went on, bright and grueling. Chakotay squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden change in luminosity. In the corner of the room was…

"Kathryn?" he called, confused. She was in civilian clothes, in the arms of a Breen soldier, who was holding a knife to her neck. She appeared unconscious, her head listing to the side. He wanted to throw something, rush to her…anything to get the soldier off of her. Rage rose within him, but he was immobilized.

"Tell us how you defeated the creatures from fluidic space," ordered the soldier. "Or she dies." Then he cut into her shoulder, and she cried out, while a trickle of blood dribbled from the wound and soaked into her dress. _Spirits, she's not unconscious. Why isn't she fighting back? What have they done to her?_

He shook his head. "No…" He pushed his arms against the chair, trying to get out, to no avail.

Then she called his name. "Chakotay…please…help me," she begged, whimpering.

_Something isn't right. Why are they hurting her, and not me? Was she captured after us, or before us? Why wouldn't they be asking her? She knows more than I do…she's the scientist…did she already refuse to tell them what she knows? If so, why would she beg me to talk?_

His train of thought was interrupted as he watched them slowly, brutally cut her to death, while all he could do was yell her name, over and over, sobbing for her pain. She cried out too, and every time her voice cut through the air, he could feel a little part of himself dying inside. Their two voices intertwined, a symphony of suffering, accompanying the visual horror of the ordeal. Briefly, he considered telling them what he knew, but he feared it wasn't enough to satisfy them anyway.

Ultimately, she was on the floor, unmoving, her limp body lying in a pool of her own blood. He sobbed uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face, his arms still strapped to the chair, unable even to reach his face to wipe his cheeks.

"Kathryn!" he cried, "Don't die! Please, I need you! I love you! Kathryn! Kathryn!" His voice trailed off as fluid poured from his eyes and nose, and his words dissolved into a sea of sobs.

And suddenly he was back in a holding room, lying on the floor. Someone was holding his head and pressing something to his lips…a container of some sort? Some liquid poured into his mouth…water…it felt good. He sipped gingerly.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Seven holding the cup of water to his lips. "Seven?" he managed to utter, his mouth still dry and foul, despite the offering.

"I am here," she replied noncommittally.

"What…what happened?" he asked, attempting to sit up. She pressed a hand to his chest, forcing him to lie back down.

"I woke up here," she answered, rising from his side and beginning to pace around the small room. "You were brought in afterwards. They gave us water and some sort of nutritional paste. You were delirious." Then she turned back to him, addressing him directly, and he was grateful for her cessation of movement, for trying to follow her with his eyes from his prone position on the floor was making him dizzy. "Have you undergone some sort of torture? Should I expect the same?"

Her rapid-fire questions indicated her agitation, and he attempted to soothe her. "I think so…but maybe they won't take you; they could have done that already if they'd wanted to."

"Perhaps they have only one facility," she postulated.

He had no reply. The image of Kathryn lying dead on the floor of the torture chamber was haunting him, even as he hoped it was some sort of trick.

It was a while before he realized that Seven, now sitting down on the other side of the room, her head in her hands, appeared as bothered as he felt. But she hadn't been tortured as of yet, so he wondered what was upsetting her.

"Seven, what's wrong?" he finally asked.

She looked accusingly at him. "You are in love with Admiral Janeway."

He gulped, still not sure whether the subject of her sentence was even alive to be in love with, let alone how she would know that. "What makes you say that?" he asked, hesitatingly.

"You were calling for her," she stated. "You said you loved her."

After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, he replied, but all he could offer was an apology. "I'm sorry."

She narrowed her eyes. "Then it is true?"

He attempted again to sit up, this time successful, as she wasn't there to push him back down. His head throbbed, and he brought up a hand to rub it before answering. Then he looked straight at her, deciding that honesty was the only recourse left here. "Yes." He neglected, however, to tell Seven that he had just seen Kathryn die.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"It's complicated," he said. "I don't think I can really explain it."

"Try," she ordered. Then, she begged. "Please."

He didn't answer.

She was angry. "We could have avoided this if you had told me. I would have ceased my pursuit. I believed you were available."

He didn't have the energy to return her rage. "I didn't want to hurt you," he whispered.

Her eyes were wide, and she stared at him, studying his face, trying to figure out how this fit into the equation.

Then the guards came and dragged her away.


	14. Act III, Scene 4: Old Enemy

The shuttle was crowded and reeked of unwashed bodies, but it was surprisingly quiet. It was as if the newly-freed prisoners believed that to speak would be to break the illusion that was their safety. The only noises that permeated the uneasy calm were the low moans of Harry Kim, now wrapped in a heavier, Starfleet-issue blanket, lying on the floor of the Flyer, his head in Admiral Janeway's lap.

Each time he called for his mother, she felt her insides twist and turn, and had to gulp back tears. She'd played the part of mother to him many times in the Delta Quadrant, but ultimately, it was not her role - it was someone else's, and she would never truly be mother to anyone. _Where did that thought come from?_

Tom expertly flew them back to _Voyager_ , where, as soon as they were inside the ship's shields, they were all transported directly to Sickbay. Paris and Janeway gently lifted Harry onto a biobed, and then the pilot effortlessly transformed into a medic as Sickbay bustled with activity, trying to find space to treat the influx of patients.

Amid the confusion, Kathryn snuck out unnoticed and returned to her quarters. As soon as the doors slid closed behind her, she fell to her knees, her face crumbling. She wept for Chakotay and Seven, who she'd mercilessly left behind, she wept for Harry and the other prisoners, and mostly, she wept for disappointment in herself, because leaving four people behind classified squarely into the 'failure' category in her book.

She knew the return trip to retrieve the remaining captives would be much more difficult than the first; now that they'd been detected, the Breen would be looking for intruders. She couldn't just go back and get her people - they were going to need to plan carefully, and right now, she couldn't muster up the energy to scheme. She couldn't even call upon the counsel of the one she usually confided in - for he was still on the planet, probably taking comfort in the arms of his Borg girlfriend.

At the thought, she wept harder with jealousy and guilt. _He's probably in bad shape right now. How could I begrudge him the only comfort available to him?_

_How did I manage to leave him behind?_

Logically, she knew she had to leave them or risk sacrificing Harry, who might have information necessary to all their survival. But it didn't change how she felt about her actions.

Slowly, she began to regain some semblance of composure, and, after a time, she forced herself to rise from the floor.

She realized too late that she wasn't going to make it up. The room began to spin around her, her knees gave way again, and she saw the ground rushing towards her.

The next thing she knew, someone was supporting her back, pulling her into a sitting position. His touch was gentle and comforting. _Chakotay?_ However, as her eyes fluttered open, she found that the arm around her was Tuvok's, and she felt a wave of deep disappointment.

"Admiral, you are not well," he addressed her. Why did this make her angry?

"Thank you, Tuvok, for your concern, but I'm fine...I just stood up too fast, that's all." Her words sounded hollow, even to her.

The Vulcan's neutral expression gave away nothing. "The replicator logs indicate that you have not eaten in at least thirty-six hours. You must ingest something." He then placed a bowl of broth in her hands. _At least he isn't trying to feed me_.

She really wasn't hungry, but she realized the futility of refusing him. Politely, she sipped the bland concoction while he monitored her. She got about halfway through before her shrunken stomach began to protest, and she placed the container back on the ground. "Thank you...I should be getting back to work."

Tuvok conceded. "I suppose that will be sufficient. However, you will need to go to sickbay."

Janeway was annoyed. "I'm fine, Tuvok...I've eaten now, I won't faint again." She wondered briefly why Tuvok hadn't taken her to sickbay directly, and was suddenly grateful that he hadn't - the last thing she needed right now was the Doctor on her case.

He raised an eyebrow. "You misunderstand, Admiral. Harry Kim is awake, and he asked for you. I came here to retrieve you after you did not respond to your comm."

She finally realized what he was doing. He had opted to take care of her himself, rather than expose her weakness to the people who needed her strong leadership - the patients recuperating in the very sickbay he had neglected to take her to directly. An appreciative warmth permeated her innards, and she allowed the Vulcan to help her back to her feet.

In Sickbay, Harry had been given a bed in the corner of the room, which was about to prove invaluable for the purpose of having a semi-private conversation with his former captain. Kathryn noted with relief as she stood beside him that he was looking much better, although he was still alarmingly pale, and the Doctor had warned her not to speak with him for too long, for he was still very weak.

She took his hand, eyeing him with concerned affection. "Harry, I heard your logs from just before the crash," she said quietly, praying that they wouldn't be overheard. "I need you to tell me who the 'old enemy' you were speaking of was."

He looked away for a moment, and she was afraid that perhaps he'd forgotten, or that his information had proven incorrect. However, when he looked back at her, there was fear in his eyes. "I was referring to Species 8472, Admiral, but they're not working with the Breen...at least, not anymore."

She looked at him, silently ordering him to continue. "We were sent to spy on the Breen because of some new technology they'd acquired - I recognized it immediately." He suppressed a shudder, and she knew exactly what he was remembering. She patted his hand reassuringly.

"When we were attacked, the Breen knew exactly what they were getting. Their alliance with 8472 had dissolved, and they somehow knew that I was on that ship, and that I'd been on _Voyager_ , and they assumed I'd know how to destroy their new enemy, because we helped the Borg beat them. They questioned and tortured me - that's how I know what happened with 8472 - but I didn't know the details they wanted. They were going to execute me, but I managed to escape into the camp, and they never figured out I wasn't just another regular prisoner."

Kathryn's head reeled with the new information. "So there are torture facilities on that planet?" she asked, suddenly feeling very cold inside. He nodded his affirmation.

"All right," she said. "Tell me how you escaped."

His face was grim. "You're not going to like it."


	15. Act III, Scene 5: Sacrifice

During the several hours Seven was out of the holding cell, Chakotay contemplated the predicament he would be in when she returned, no doubt calling his name in her delirium, if his experience was any indication.

When she was returned, he found himself wishing for that scenario. She was thrown roughly onto the floor of the chamber, pale as a ghost, unmoving. For a heart-stopping moment, Chakotay believed her dead, and when he reached over to touch her cheek, it was with profound relief that he felt a weak puff of breath on his palm. However, she did not awaken.

He had the ex-drone cradled in his arms, still appearing sickly, when a Breen guard entered the room.

The guard's movement was unlike the others. Suddenly he had a feeling in his gut - a warm one, and his heart began to pulse with the tiniest shred of hope.

He recognized those legs. But he had to be sure.

"Aren't you a little short for a Breen guard?" he asked, praying that his hunch was right and he wasn't about to be executed.

"What?" was the reply. He recognized that voice. It was her! She was alive! Then, "this is no time for jokes." He made a mental note to make her watch that movie at some point in the future. He suspected that Tom Paris would be able to furnish them with a copy.

He almost dropped Seven on the floor, as he felt a sudden urge to jump up and hug his former captain. But his glance downward and the subsequent observation of the pale form in his arms stilled his impulse.

"Listen carefully, Chakotay," the admiral instructed, still from behind the mask, undoubtedly because they were being visually monitored.

Actually, Kathryn kept the mask covering her face because she needed him not to see the tears that were streaming down her face, as she anticipated that this might be the last time she saw him. If there were any hope for his and Seven's survival, he would need not to be worrying about her.

She proceeded to give him instructions for the safest and quickest route to the nearest egress, and the location of the cloaked shuttle. "Now wait exactly two minutes, then get out of here," she ordered. "Take care of her."

He nodded, assuming she was referring to Seven. In fact, she was thinking of _Voyager_.

"What about you?" he asked.

She'd anticipated this. "I'll be fine. No time to explain. Just get to the shuttle." It was a blatant lie, but without seeing her face, and with the added preoccupation with the unconscious Seven, she hoped he wouldn't be able to tell.

Another line from the movie he promised himself he'd show her popped into his head. _I've got a bad feeling about this._ But he knew better than to argue with her, especially when time was of the essence. He trusted her, even as he worried. And he had Seven to worry about as well. So he watched her leave and began counting.

Quickly, Kathryn made her way to the control room Harry had told her about. Seven and Chakotay wouldn't be able to get out unless she could manually disable the force fields and locks blocking their path. The controls would allow her to do this, but at a price - she wouldn't be able to escape after them. Harry had cried when he told her of the Ensign that had given his life to save Harry and two others.

Furthermore, she had bigger problems now. The Breen's torture techniques included a crude form of telepathic monitoring, and it was reasonable to assume that, even if Chakotay and Seven had refused to tell them anything, they would have found a way to extract the information they needed. Seven by herself knew enough to allow them to build the weapon - all they'd need to complete the task would be to extract Seven's own nanoprobes, which, from Kathryn's observation of Seven's condition, she had a sneaky suspicion they had.

Knowing that she could not afford to fail, Admiral Janeway had anticipated all these possibilities and was prepared to do everything it took to stop a war.

Getting in had been easy. She'd simply offered them what she knew they wanted. Her. She'd left Tom with the shuttle and instructed him to depart no later than five minutes after Chakotay and Seven were aboard. She'd let him believe that she would also make it out in that time. She'd also forgone the rescue of the last two prisoners, knowing that, if she were successful, it would be much easier to retrieve them later.

Then, she'd surrendered herself to the Breen guards. They'd searched her body for weapons - a humiliating experience, involving being stripped and manhandled - and then thrown her in a cell where she would await questioning. When she was alone in the cell with the last guard, she'd been able to quickly render him unconscious, having read all the available literature on fighting the Breen. She then stole his suit and weapon, trying not to glance upon the hideous face that had been hidden under the mask.

Entering the control room, she shot the two guards inside and began her work. She removed only the mask of the suit.

After five minutes, which was all the time she could spare, she prayed that they'd made it out, and steeled herself for her other task.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she stuck a finger down her throat, forcing herself to gag. She expelled a small amount of Tuvok's soup. _Sorry, old friend_. With panic, she realized she was going to have to try again.

She repeated the procedure, this time holding her finger in its position for several seconds, causing a painful bout of heaving. Her body convulsed, her eyes stung and watered, her heart pounded, and she had to take a moment to bow her head so that she wouldn't pass out.

When she opened her eyes, her pain was rewarded with the sight of the several sacs she had disgorged. _The oldest trick in the book_ , she thought. And then another thought, unbidden, troubled her deeply. _That was actually kind of satisfying_. She began to shiver, not knowing whether it was from the cold or from her revulsion at her own thoughts. It didn't even occur to her that she might be in shock.

She focused and began working, knowing that at any moment she may be intruded upon and that she would need to complete her task as quickly as possible.

When she was done, she carefully set the device she had assembled, then replaced the mask on her face and exited the control room, hoping to get as much space between herself and it as possible. She wondered idly what Tuvok's estimate of her chances of survival would be.


	16. Act III, Scene 6: Grief

Chakotay ran with Seven in his arms towards the beckoning shuttle, which he felt rather than saw on the horizon, for it was still cloaked, and would not be visible. However, Tom must have seen them on sensors, for suddenly the door opened, revealing the inside of the Flyer - a strange illusion, an entrance opening into a room that seemed to emanate from nothingness, but an invitation to freedom nonetheless.

It was then that the tattooed man tripped and fell at the threshold, the tall blonde girl still limp in his arms. He cried out involuntarily, and his mind registered seconds later that there had been an explosion, and the wave of heat had set him off his feet. His ears rang, and he looked up to find Tom gathering up the body that had fallen with him. It was another long moment, during which he ascended the ramp and the door closed behind him, before the implications of what he had heard were processed into coherent thought, and that thought was only one word: a name, a prayer. _Kathryn_.

His first words to the pilot were not "how is she?" or "thank you for opening the door" or even "hello." The only thing he could utter was a strangled cry. "We have to go back."

Tom, now kneeling to scan the body that he had carefully placed upon the floor, looked up at his former commanding officer as if he had two heads. "I have orders to wait for her no more than five minutes, then leave."

Chakotay shook his head. "She's still in there. Please," he begged.

Tom chided him, closing the tricorder. "Seven's bad. She'll die soon if we don't get her back to the ship. I can't treat her here."

Chakotay gave him a pleading look. "Take her; I'll go back alone."

Paris frowned. "Wait. The dampening field."

"What?" the taller man asked, clearly confused.

"That explosion...hold on...sit with her." Chakotay obediently sat next to Seven while Tom went to the shuttle's controls and began working.

"She did it," he exclaimed, amazed. "The dampening field is down. We should be able to scan for life signs and use the transporter now." Chakotay nodded, dumbfounded.

A moment later, two dirty humans materialized inside the Flyer, looking disoriented. "I've got the last two prisoners," Tom confirmed.

Chakotay was getting impatient. "What about Kathryn?" he pleaded.

"Working on it," Tom answered. "I'm scanning the facility..." Then, after a few minutes, "I can't find her...I'm not reading life signs inside the building. Either they're still masked, or nobody's alive down there." Then the pilot looked up at Chakotay, whose eyes were filled with fear and unshed tears. "I'm sorry," he stated quietly.

"Beam me into the building," he ordered, not ready to give up. "Just a few minutes..." His voice trailed off. Tom nodded solemnly, handing him a phaser and tricorder, and pinning a communicator to the rags that remained on his upper body. "Be careful," he warned.

Once inside, Chakotay ran through the corridors, pausing at each Breen body, scanning it, finding only dead Breen and no humans. Then he came upon one, curled into a ball inside a slight indentation in the wall, almost as if it had anticipated the explosion and tried to protect itself. His heart fluttered, and he forgot his tricorder, instead kneeling next to the body and desperately tearing off the mask, revealing the telltale auburn hair underneath.

She wasn't breathing.

He placed two fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse, finding none. A dark déjà vu infected his consciousness, and he resisted the urge to scream, knowing that live guards might be roaming, looking for survivors. He lay her body prone on the ground before him and pressed his mouth against hers, trying hopelessly to breathe life back into her still form.

Finally, he remembered that he had a communicator now, and he tapped it, gathering her into his arms.

"Paris here," he heard.

"I've got her," he croaked, the constriction in his throat barely allowing him to speak at all.

"Acknowledged," he heard. Then he felt the transporter engulf him, and quickly thereafter was aware of the acceleration of the shuttle lifting off the planet.

It was only a few minutes before they were back on _Voyager_ , but it felt like an eternity, and not for a moment during that eternity did Chakotay loosen his grip on the body in his arms. He paid no mind to the two strangers staring at him as he held onto her and silently cried, and the other body, unconscious and dying on the floor on the other side of the shuttle, was completely forgotten. Tom told himself that he could not afford a moment to look behind him, because he needed to focus on flying the shuttle, but he knew also that to turn around would be to face a harsh reality that, somehow, if he refused to acknowledge, would not exist.

They were all beamed directly to sickbay, and, in accordance with triage procedures, Seven was treated first, after the Doctor determined with a quick scan that there was nothing he could do for the admiral.

Shamelessly now, Chakotay wept, inconsolable, still holding her in his arms. _A trick, it's just a trick. They fooled me before. She was alive then, and she's still alive now. Just wake me up_ , he pleaded silently to nobody in particular.

It was Tom's hands on his shoulders that brought him back to reality. "Is she...?" Chakotay asked, trepidation filling his voice. Moving around to face him and kneeling in front of him, Tom observed Chakotay's tear-stained face and frowned worriedly, not knowing about which woman he was asking. He feared correctly that his former commanding officer had forgotten entirely about the one who was still alive.

"Seven's going to be okay," he stated. "She's had most of her nanoprobes removed, and she needs to regenerate. The Doctor's stabilized her for now."

Then, hesitantly, he continued. "I need to take Admiral Janeway now. We're going to put her in stasis so we can do an autopsy."

"No!" Chakotay cried out, squeezing the body in his arms. "She's alive. It's a trick! You can save her," he sobbed.

Tom motioned to the Doctor, who quickly came over with a hypospray and pressed it to Chakotay's neck. He slumped, and was caught by the Doctor before his body could hit the floor. Paris then gently pried the admiral from the unconscious man's arms.

As the medic worked on the readings of his former captain's body, he heard a moan, and looked up to see the Doctor hovering over Seven. "You're awake," the Doctor stated excitedly, and Tom felt slightly sick at the thought that the holographic program could be so cheerful when their fearless leader was lying dead in a stasis chamber.

She blinked her eyes and looked around, seeing Chakotay on the biobed beside her. "Is he damaged?" she asked the Doctor.

"He'll be fine," said the Doctor, frowning. "We had to sedate him."

"Why?" Seven asked.

The Doctor paused, uncertain as to how much to reveal to the ex-Borg while she was still recovering from her own ordeal, and decided that Seven would be angry if she weren't told the truth. "Admiral Janeway rescued you both, but she herself did not survive," he told her.

Seven was alarmed. "What is her condition?"

The Doctor shook his head at her. "She's dead, Seven. There isn't anything we can do."

"Let me see her readings," Seven demanded, and, not finding a good reason to do otherwise, the Doctor obliged.

After a moment, Seven was adamant. "I can revive her."

The Doctor was exasperated. "It's been too long. Don't you think if I could have revived her I would have done so already?"

"I brought Neelix back," Seven reminded him. "I can do the same for her. Extract my nanoprobes."

The Doctor regarded her steadily. "That's not possible right now, Seven. The Breen already removed more nanoprobes than you could afford to lose. You need to regenerate for at least sixteen hours before we could safely perform such a procedure."

"By then it will be too late," Seven stated.

"Yes," the Doctor confirmed, nodding sadly.

The ex-Borg thought for a moment, then renewed her plea. "You will extract my remaining nanoprobes and perform the procedure. Her life is more important than mine."

Now the Doctor was horrified. "Seven, even if we could be assured that it would work, and even if it didn't violate my ethical subroutines to do that, I still wouldn't do it."

"I will delete your ethical subroutines," she threatened, crying now. "We must save the admiral."

The Doctor leaned over her and wiped a tear from her cheek. "Calm down, Seven, or I will have to sedate you too. What's come over you?"

"True love," she said cryptically.

"Whatever do you mean?" asked the Doctor, utterly confused.

"I love him. He loves her. True love must triumph."

 _And I love you, still_ , thought the Doctor as he caressed her cheek. "I'm sorry, Seven, but it doesn't always work out that way."

Then a voice came over the comm. "Tuvok to Sickbay."

The Doctor tapped his communicator. "This is the Doctor."

"A ship has just emerged from an apparent entry to fluidic space, and a member of species 8472 has hailed us. They are asking for Chakotay. Is he available?"

The Doctor grumbled. "I will wake him."


	17. Act III, Scene 7: Hope

When Chakotay awoke, groggy and aching, he quickly identified the familiar feel of the surface on which he lay as a Sickbay biobed. He waited a moment before opening his eyes, hoping that the horrifying images assaulting his mind were mere remnants of a nightmare. _When I look up_ , he thought, _she'll be looking down at me, with patience and concern, like always_.

Slowly beginning to blink at the harsh light, he looked for the familiar comforting presence above him, and found it absent. In its stead was the looming face of the holographic doctor, grumpy and impatient, a stark reminder that Chakotay's memories were no dream. Reflexively, he looked away, only to discover another unwelcome stare – this one from his Breen prison cellmate, who lay on the bed next to him with a strange expression adorning her countenance. It was for her sake that he resolved to remain calm, no matter what reality with which he must now contend.

"Oh good," said the Doctor, peering down at the tricorder in his hand. "You seem to be feeling a bit better. There is a…situation which requires your attention; are you feeling up to it?"

Chakotay grumbled at the Doctor's equivocation. "What kind of situation?"

The Doctor sighed. "It seems Species 8472 is here, in the Alpha Quadrant, and they are asking to speak with you."

The human man pursed his lips. "I see," he acknowledged. "I take it Tuvok summoned me?"

"Indeed," the Doctor replied. "So?" he prompted.

Chakotay nodded. "I'll deal with it." Then, tapping his communicator, "Chakotay to Tuvok. I heard you were looking for me."

"Yes," was the curt reply.

"Can you meet me in the ready room?" Chakotay asked.

"I will wait for you on the bridge," he answered.

Every step through the halls of the ship felt like a trek through a barren wilderness. His boots felt as if they were made of lead, and he shivered, feeling as if he were walking through a graveyard. _Is the ghost of Kathryn Janeway haunting this vessel, which she loved so dearly_?

When he reached the bridge, Tuvok was seated in the Captain's chair, but promptly vacated it, triggering an enigmatic rush of relief inside the tall human. It was only then that Chakotay realized how wrong the chair looked with someone other than Kathryn in it.

The Vulcan followed Chakotay into the ready room, where the human sat in the chair at the desk, feeling very uncomfortable about the whole thing. With his eyes, he gave Tuvok permission to speak.

"Sir," Tuvok began. "We have been contacted by Species 8472."

"That I know, Tuvok; please tell me what it is about."

"I do not know," the Vulcan replied. "They only wished to speak with you."

Chakotay nodded. "I'll take the call here." Then, before Tuvok could leave, a pained expression crossed his face, and he spoke softly. "Did you feel it?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly to what the human was referring. "No," he answered. "Not yet."

And with that, he exited the ready room, leaving the tattooed man stunned and strangely hopeful.

After a minute, the beep of the comm signaled that the call was coming through. His hand shaking slightly, Chakotay pressed the button that would allow the video to appear on the screen on the ready room desk.

The face that appeared made his heart jump. "Valerie?" he queried.

She smiled. "I'm not actually in human form now – it's just the interface, but I wanted you to know to whom you were speaking. How are you, Chakotay?"

"I've been better," he answered honestly. "What brings you to our quadrant?"

"Would you believe me if I said we were just stopping by to say hello?" she asked.

Despite everything that had happened, the ghost of a smile briefly graced his lips, but then his face fell again. "No," he replied, shaking his head.

The creature disguised as Valerie Archer sighed. "The truth is, our leadership still didn't trust you, even after we exchanged technology. The simulations stopped, but the investigations didn't. We were prepared to attack."

Chakotay nodded.

"After you made it back to the Alpha Quadrant, disabling the Borg along the way, you were seen as even more threatening, now that you had your people to assist you, and one of your biggest enemies was no longer contributing to the balance of power. We decided to strike preemptively, making a pact with what we believed to be the strongest of your enemies. You see, the plan was to have the Breen destroy the Federation, and nobody would ever suspect us."

Chakotay drew a sharp breath. "And you went along with it?"

She shook her head. "Hardly. There was a large segment of us opposing the operation. We trusted you, but those who were in charge didn't. Nobody had any idea the Breen were so hostile. When they took our technology and then turned against us, we were put in a difficult situation."

"It sounds very familiar, Valerie. Much like the situation we were in when we went to war with you."

Valerie sighed. "If only we had such a distinct objective as you did. In any case, I made my appeal to our leaders, and they authorized me to do whatever it took to bring the crew of _Voyager_ back to us."

"But why us?" he asked.

"If you who attacked us would choose to save us, we would be able to prove definitively that you were trustworthy."

Suddenly Chakotay was afraid. "It was you – not the Breen - who brought down Harry Kim's ship."

She nodded. "It was necessary."

Chakotay had to struggle not to cry as he drew the next conclusion. "Admiral Janeway gave her life because of your political situation."

Valerie then looked strangely at him. "She means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. "Yes," he croaked.

"She was the one who chose sides against us," Valerie pointed out. "You never agreed."

The topic was painful to him, even now. "I supported her decision as much as I could. I used my best judgment to keep the crew safe. I didn't want to hurt you – but I was not on your side," he admitted.

Valerie nodded slowly, understanding. "That is what makes you trustworthy, Chakotay. You try to do what's best. And you try not to hurt. If only our people were as sensible as you."

Chakotay was silent, both touched and disturbed by the praise.

Then Valerie said something that left him completely stunned. "You're right, that this conflict was not your fault, not this time. There is something I can do for you. Beam Kathryn Janeway's body to our ship."


	18. Act IV, Scene 1: Resurrection

Kathryn felt warm and comforted. Her eyes were closed and she was four years old again, slowly falling asleep in her father's lap after an exhausting day of play and learning.

Then, like a rubber band snapping back from being stretched to its limit, she was suddenly and forcefully pulled away from her father's arms, and immediately felt bereft. She became aware of unpleasant sensations around her: cold, pain, loneliness, nausea.

Unready to deal with the new sensory input, she felt herself pulling back, and immediately the world around her faded to a tolerable level, and she could then process it.

The sounds were the first thing of which she became completely aware. Strange clicking noises that she realized, with a detached horror, she could understand as a form of speech.

_She's awakening...Vital organs are operational...Should we sedate her?_

That last one reached her like an alarm, and she struggled to open her eyes so she could look these...doctors?...in the face and tell them that she was fine and did not need to be sedated.

As her eyelids fluttered open, she instantly regretted having awoken. She was in a strange, unfamiliar-looking space, surrounded by creatures that, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was being told to be afraid of. The fear was distant, however, like that of a child warned to avoid something dangerous, but without the added explanation of the possible consequences should the child disobey.

She focused her eyes on one of the creatures, and stared it down. It seemed unsettled by her gaze, and leaned over to touch her. Involuntarily, she recoiled, but the creature's touch reached her neck, and she was quickly drawn back into oblivion.

The next time she awoke, she instantly recognized the familiar dull ceiling of _Voyager_ 's Sickbay.

Someone was holding her hand. Her mind told her that this was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but she felt only invaded by it, and moved to withdraw her hand from the offending touch.

The hand squeezed hers for a moment, then reluctantly let it go. Looking over at the owner of the hand, she recognized the face, the tattoo...it was Chakotay.

She began, slowly, to remember what had happened. It played back to her like an ancient silent movie, without the added benefit of music or dialogue, and, as a result, evoked little emotional response, except a mild surprise that she had survived, and, all the way at the bottom of her consciousness, a sensation of being terribly out of place. _I shouldn't be alive_.

"Hello," Chakotay said, hesitantly. He wanted to take her in his arms and hug her, he wanted to caress her cheek and kiss her forehead, but he did none of these things, discouraged by her reaction to the smallest of touches.

She attempted to speak, but her mouth was dry, and, as a result, no sound came out. He instantly understood her need, and, with one hand gently supporting her head, he pressed a glass of water to her lips.

After a few sips, she turned her head, and he withdrew the water and the hand on her neck.

"What happened?" she managed to ask.

His face darkened momentarily, but he quickly hid his emotions. "You died, rescuing us. You've been revived." He decided that the details were not something to be related right away; she didn't need to start worrying about the Breen and Species 8472 just yet.

Suddenly and inexplicably, she felt anger boiling up inside of her, and she lashed out. "You should have left me," she retorted, though her voice, dulled from disuse, betrayed little of the rage that prompted the remark.

Then, with surprisingly malicious satisfaction, she observed him as he began to cry.

He rose then. "You've been through a lot," he stated, trying to convey more patience than he had as a tear rolled down his cheek. "We'll talk when you're feeling better."

He didn't return to Sickbay after that, and she didn't ask for him.

At her insistence, she was discharged to her quarters after eighteen hours. The Doctor prattled on about how she was going to make a full recovery, how she shouldn't exert herself, and that she should call if she needed anything or felt any ill effects, but Kathryn mostly ignored him.

Walking around her room, she no longer felt the strong sense of home she vaguely recalled. She couldn't shake the sense that she didn't belong here, that this wasn't her life anymore. She touched the walls, the bed, the couch, and felt nothing. All her memories of this room, of this ship, were dim flames in the distance, wavering in the wind, threatening to flicker out at any moment.

Wandering into the bathroom, she splashed water on her face, hoping to shock herself back into the world of the living, but it wasn't enough. She struggled to remember the last time she felt something strongly. Instantly, a recent memory crept into her mind, and she knew what she had to do. She knew also that it was wrong, but that didn't matter now. Her need was too strong.

It seemed as though she were outside of herself, observing with fascination and dull horror, as she knelt in front of the toilet and thrust a finger into her throat.

Then, as she began to gag and convulse, she was snapped back into her body, reveling in the unpleasant sensations that invaded her. She felt powerful and in control, for the first time since long before this mission.

At last, exhausted and sated, she was slumped, her cheek resting against cool porcelain. Reluctantly, she rose from the floor, rinsed her mouth, and headed to her bed, where she collapsed, falling quickly into a dreamless sleep.


	19. Act IV, Scene 2: Alterations

_"Chakotay...please...help me," Kathryn cried, but he was immobile. All he could do was scream and watch as she slowly maimed herself, one cut at a time, blood dripping onto the floor of the cell..._

Chakotay bolted upright in his bed, covered in sweat, his heart pounding. It was the third time he'd had this nightmare, a morbid and twisted reenactment of the scene he'd witnessed in the torture chamber at the hands of the Breen. The first time, he'd seen the Breen guard cutting her, just as he had while captive. The second time, the Breen guard had held her hands, forcing her to cut herself. This time there was no Breen guard.

Chakotay shivered.

He'd only talked to her once since their disturbing conversation in Sickbay. When she'd told him he should have left her for dead, he'd been so shocked, he couldn't contain his tears. But the most shocking thing of all was the look in her eyes as she saw his distress...it was as if she was enjoying it. It was that look that had scared him out of Sickbay and out of trying to talk to her afterwards.

It was almost thirty-six hours after that that he had approached her in her quarters, hoping to get her to visit some of the rescued prisoners. He didn't expect her to be running the ship as of yet - he was perfectly capable of that, and they'd begun their journey back to Federation space to await the consequences of their actions. Truly, nobody was worried about their punishment - they'd rescued Harry and Celes and ten others, and possibly averted a war. It would be surprising if they weren't greeted as heroes when they returned. So he was content to let her rest in her quarters, except that the prisoners had asked to see her, to thank her for risking everything to save them.

She'd flat-out refused. "I'm not feeling up to it," she'd said, blankly.

He'd eyed her with concern, desperately wanting to touch her, but her body language had warded him off. "Is there anything I can do?" he'd asked.

"No," she'd answered, and, at a loss for anything else to say, he'd left her alone.

Now he was starting to wonder if his subconscious was trying to tell him something. On a whim, he headed to her quarters. When she didn't answer the chime, he overrode the door and entered, not finding her at first glance.

Then he heard a disturbing sound coming from the bathroom, and he raced after it, forgetting privacy and protocol, just barging through the door, which, thankfully, wasn't locked.

He almost fainted when he saw her, slumped over the toilet, doing something he never thought he'd see anyone do, let alone her...

Roughly, he pulled her away from the toilet, spreading her arms away from her. Fear and anger pervaded him as she cried out in surprise and pain. Realizing, belatedly, that he was hurting her, he removed his hands and watched as she slowly looked up at him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, his eyes accusing her of a terrible offence.

She stared at him, revealing no emotion, then slowly rose from the floor and walked out into her living room, setting herself on the couch.

He followed her, kneeling in front of her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Please," he begged, softening slightly, "talk to me."

She was silent.

The anger returned. He shook her, and began a tirade. "Do you know that I watched you die? Then I held your body and I cried, Kathryn, I cried for you! Getting you back was a miracle...and for what? For this? Explain to me, please, what the hell you think you are doing!"

Then she pitched forward and threw up on the floor in front of him. Jumping backwards, he managed to avoid the majority of the offending splatter.

He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping momentarily that when he opened them, he'd find that this was all part of the wretched nightmare. But there was no such luck.

It was then that he realized she looked...miserable. "Are you done now?" he asked.

She nodded her head yes, then changed her mind, vigorously shaking "no" as she became pale. He hurried her back to the bathroom where she threw up again, then nearly fell over as he caught her in his arms.

"I'm taking you to Sickbay," he announced. She still didn't speak, and it worried the hell out of him. He picked her up in his arms, and she didn't protest, and it was like that, with no concern for who might see them along the way, that he carried her the entire distance. There were thankfully few denizens of the corridors at this hour, and the few who passed by were too polite to stare.

The Doctor was at a loss at first, as Chakotay nervously paced around the room, absolutely sure that this was in some way his fault. Kathryn lay unconscious on the biobed, having been sedated for the examination. Chakotay had only told him that Kathryn wasn't well and that there was something very, very wrong. He was too ashamed - for her and for himself - to reveal the details of what had just transpired.

Then the Doctor called Chakotay into his office and closed the door. "If I didn't know better," he announced, "I'd say she was bulemic. But of course, that's impossible."

Chakotay wanted to cry. "It's true," he whispered. "I saw her."

The Doctor responded with as alarmed a look as a hologram was capable of. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

He pursed his lips, not knowing any reasonable response. Luckily, the Doctor saved him from the awkward moment. "Well, it doesn't matter now," the Doctor said. "Now that we know what's wrong, I can look for a cause. I didn't do any brain scans before, because she seemed to be fine, but obviously it was an egregious oversight. It would be advisable for you to go back to your quarters; this might take a while, and I'll have to keep her sedated."

Chakotay refused. "I'd like to stay," he confessed. _I'm too worried to do anything else_. The Doctor eyed him for a moment, then nodded, understanding.

Two hours later, Chakotay was roused from a self-depricating daydream by the triumphant "aha!" uttered by the Doctor.

"Doctor?" he queried, rising to stand next to the Doctor, who was peering at a chart on the wall.

"This is...fascinating," the Doctor mumbled idly, barely noticing Chakotay's presence beside him. "Her brain appears to have been altered. There is evidence of microsurgery." Then he turned to the human. "Did Valerie tell you exactly what procedure they performed to revive her? I have a sneaky suspicion this is their doing."

Chakotay's heart sank in his chest. "No, I don't know anything," he said. "But we're going to find out."

Then he headed to the bridge, where he ordered the ship turned back on its course. They were going to have to return to Breen space.


	20. Act IV, Scene 3: Search for Kathryn

"It'll be at least two days before we're close enough to an entry to fluidic space to contact Species 8472. What are we going to do with her in the meantime?" Chakotay pondered while tenderly stroking Kathryn's hair as she lay unconscious on the biobed. "Can we keep her sedated?"

The Doctor made a disapproving face. "Not safely," he said. "Physically, she's going to be fine - I've fixed most of the damage she's done to herself in the last few days, and if she would simply eat something," then he made a disgusted face and added, "and keep it down, she'd gain back the weight she's lost. Keeping her sedated would surely retard her recovery, and I'd have to keep her on intravenous feeding. There's also always a risk that prolonged sedation will result in permanent brain damage. If we keep her under for too long, she may never wake up."

Chakotay drew a breath. "What would you normally do in this situation, Doctor?"

He shook his head. "There's nothing 'normal' about this situation. Ordinarily, a patient with her symptoms would be sent straight to a psychologist for evaluation and counseling, but I'm not programmed for that, nor, as far as I know, is anyone else on this ship qualified. Furthermore, this is no ordinary mental illness...she's been physically tampered with, and we don't even know if the procedure can be reversed."

Chakotay nodded. "Are you at least sure that the microsurgery is the cause?"

The Doctor looked glum. "I can't be completely certain, and in fact, I'd have to say that, even if it is the cause, it's probably only part of it. Her judgment has clearly been impaired, but as far as I know, it's not possible to directly program the human brain for particular actions, except by hypnosis, and I found no evidence of that."

Worried, Chakotay interjected. "What are you saying, Doctor?"

He frowned. "What I'm saying is that there is likely a reason behind her behavior. Without the intervention of Species 8472, she may not have acted on her impulses, but those impulses had to come from somewhere. In short, there's more going on here than we know, and if we don't find out what that is, she might not recover, even if all the physical damage is repaired."

Chakotay sighed, and, grappling with this analysis, spoke mostly to himself. "If that's true, she had me fooled. I mean, I know she took Kes's death pretty hard, but after that she seemed okay."

The Doctor raised a holographic eyebrow at him. "What I'm about to say borders on violation of Doctor-patient confidentiality, but under the circumstances..."

Chakotay eyed him, silently demanding for him to continue.

"Shortly after she left to rescue you, Tuvok voiced some concerns to me about her mental state. She apparently passed out in her quarters, but I was willing to attribute it to stress and her particular habit of forgetting to eat when she is busy. There wasn't much I could do at that time - she'd already left, and when she came back, well, she was dead. Then, after she was revived, she was so insistent that she be allowed to return to her quarters; I suppose I indulged her. If I'd only made her stay a bit longer," he began.

"Hey," Chakotay interrupted, patting the Doctor's shoulder. "There's enough blame here to go around. What's important now is that we figure out what's going on. And somebody's going to need to watch her after she wakes up."

"Are you volunteering?" the Doctor asked.

Fearful, but determined, the human replied. "I suppose I am."

"I can keep her here, under observation, if you prefer, but I have a feeling that if she's going to open up to anyone, it'll be you."

Several hours later, Kathryn was on the couch in Chakotay's quarters, and, pacing in front of her, he was starting to regret volunteering for this duty.

Tears of frustration stinging at his eyes, he tried yet again to get her to speak. "Just, please Kathryn, tell me something...anything...how you feel, what you'd like to eat...what you think the weather will be like in San Francisco when we get back to Earth...anything!"

She stared at him, defiant.

He played his ace. "Fine, I'll take you back to Sickbay. It's what the Doctor wanted, anyway."

She looked up at him, seeming to consider this offer carefully. Then she spoke, so softly he almost didn't hear her. "You're angry," she observed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, tears finally slipping out onto his cheeks. "Damn right I am, Kathryn...you got yourself killed on that planet, and then, when, beyond all possible hope, I got you back from the dead, you went ahead and tried to kill yourself again!"

That startled her. "I wasn't trying to kill myself," she retorted.

 _This is good_ , he thought. _She's finally starting to open up_. But then, looking away from him, she said something else which sent a chill down his spine. "Why would anyone kill something that's already dead?"

Now he closed the gap between them and took hold of her, ignoring her squirming to get out of his grasp. "Listen to me, Kathryn, you're alive, and I'm going to make sure you stay that way."

"You're wrong," was all she said.

 _Should I take this stubbornness to be a sign that my Kathryn is still somewhere in there?_ he thought to himself. Then, with renewed patience, he addressed her. "Explain to me, Kathryn, what you mean by that, because I don't understand. You're breathing, your heart is beating, and you're sitting here talking to me. You're a scientist, dammit, tell me that doesn't classify as alive!"

She shrugged.

Eyeing her, he realized something frightening. "You never intended to survive, down there on the planet, when you came to rescue us." Then, darkly, "you lied to me when you said you'd be okay."

Looking up at him, her eyes confirmed his conclusion, though she was still eerily calm. "You'll never make it if you're saving something for the return trip," she stated cryptically. It sounded like she was quoting someone, but he couldn't place it.

"We made the return trip for you, Kathryn. I carried you back. And then I asked for a miracle, and I got one. What I don't understand is why you can't also accept that."

That was the most she said that day, returning to comfortable silence, and he changed strategies, trying to draw her out with stories and idle chatter, although nothing seemed to bring her out of her shell. He offered her water, which she obediently sipped, and then coffee, from which she turned away in disgust. _I would have known something was wrong if I'd offered her coffee days ago_ , he thought. _When Kathryn Janeway refuses coffee..._

After several hours, she began to yawn, and he returned her to Sickbay - with apologies, though she voiced no explicit objection - so that he could also sleep. The next day, he took her back to his quarters and began anew. He'd been told by the Doctor to start offering her light food, and had been given by Tuvok the recipe for a bland Vulcan broth that he claimed she liked.

But when he gave her the soup, and she took her first sip, an alarmed look crossed her face, and she began to gag, collapsing onto the floor, holding her stomach. As dry heaves overtook her body, he grabbed onto her and held her until, exhausted, she slumped in his arms.

Stroking her hair, trying to calm her - though, truthfully, it was only his heart that was still racing - he turned her around to face him. "You need to tell me exactly what that was all about, Kathryn. No equivocation."

So, slowly, she related to him her activities after she'd sent him with Seven out of the complex. When she told him what she'd had to do to build the explosive - that she'd hidden the chemicals and equipment in her stomach, and that, instead of the supplies, Tuvok's soup had emerged the very first time she'd forced herself to vomit - he grabbed her and pulled her towards him, trying to offer the comfort she'd obviously needed then.

But it was too late for that, and she pushed away. "Don't do that," she said simply. "It doesn't feel good anymore."

And, once again, her words were like a lance through his heart, and he felt tears threatening behind his eyelids. But at least, this time, he saw no animosity in her gaze as she regarded him in his discomfort. Her look was one of detached fascination, and he didn't know whether to find this more or less disturbing.

The next food he offered her was a sweet gelatin, of which she took a few bites without incident before pushing it away. He could tell she was trying, and whether it was to avoid his ire or Sickbay, or whether it was because she was genuinely interested in her own recovery, he couldn't tell, but at the moment, it didn't matter to him.

He continued with stories, returning her once again to Sickbay as the hour became late and he knew he'd need rest before communicating with the creatures responsible for her illness.


	21. Act IV, Scene 4: Treatment

Chakotay waited impatiently on the bridge, every centimeter of his body screaming for a fight; the last few days had been unbelievably trying, and he was wrestling with himself over whether to assume that Kathryn had been hurt intentionally, and that Species 8472 wasn't as interested in peace as they'd let him believe.

They'd opened the small rift to Fluidic Space as he'd been instructed; the hole was just small enough for a message; opening up a bigger rift would be seen as an invasion, an act of aggression that could undermine any attempts at reconciliation with this formidable species. It had been several minutes since they'd sent the beacon, and the tattooed man was beginning to believe there wouldn't be a response.

Finally, when he was about to give up hope, they received the hail, and relief washed through him as he announced that he would take the call in the ready room.

When Valerie appeared on the screen, the expression on her face was enigmatic. "So soon, Chakotay, with news from your Federation?" she asked.

He took a breath before responding, summoning all his control. "No," he told her. "We haven't spoken with the Federation yet. I returned because Kathryn is ill."

Valerie seemed unconcerned. "I'm sorry to hear that, Chakotay. Nothing we caused, I hope!" Something about her words rang false to him, almost as if she knew exactly what they'd done and what the effects would be, and a cold fear filled him.

He decided, nevertheless, to give her the benefit of the doubt, knowing that entire civilizations hung in the balance, and someone needed to initiate trust. It was possible that his own paranoia was feeding his suspicions, and that Species 8472 was genuinely benevolent. "I can't thank you enough for what you did," he started, "but I'm afraid it might have had unintended consequences. Is it possible that you can brief us on the procedure you performed in order to help us understand what's happened to her?"

Valerie shook her head. "I'm sorry, Chakotay, but I'm not authorized to provide you with that information, not until after we have a peace treaty." _Spirits, is Kathryn a bargaining chip?_ "Suffice it to say that raising the dead isn't exactly a recommended medical procedure. Have you ever read Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_?"

The conflicting emotions inside of the human threatened to overwhelm him. "Yes," he conceded, "but that is a work of fiction." Then he sighed. "Is there anything at all you can tell me?" he begged, hoping beyond all reason that Valerie's lingering feelings for him would persuade her to provide some clues.

She paused, considering. Then, sounding at least partially sincere, she made a small concession. "I'm sorry, Chakotay, I really am. I can't tell you about the procedure. It's too dangerous." _Dangerous for the patients it might be used on, or dangerous for Species 8472, because they think we'll use it to reanimate an army's worth of monsters_? "I will tell you one thing, though - she was already dead when the explosion hit."

She gave him a moment to process that information, then ended the conversation. "Good luck, Chakotay; I hope you find what you're looking for. The next time we speak, I expect word from the Federation; otherwise, I can't vouch for the consequences."

As the link went dead, Chakotay leaned back in the chair and contemplated what he'd just heard, trying to figure it all out. After a few minutes, he decided the only thing he knew was that it was a stark warning - one he dare not disobey, and that, if Kathryn were to be cured, they weren't going to get any help.

It was then that his communicator beeped. "Sickbay to Chakotay," he heard the Doctor say. "I need you here, right away." Instantly, his heart began to beat double-time, and he raced to his destination, stopping only for a moment on the bridge to order Tom Paris to resume a course towards Federation space.

He'd barely burst through the doors when he saw the Doctor standing over Kathryn's unconscious form, looking worried. Panicking, he began to question the Doctor. "What is it?" he asked while striding towards the biobed on which she lay. "What's wrong with her? Is she going to be all right?"

The Doctor touched his upper arm, giving him a stern glance. "Calm down," he ordered, "this isn't going to be any easier if you're all worked up."

Chakotay closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, drawing strength from his core. When he opened them again, the Doctor was still looking at him. Then, the hologram glanced around the room, as if to make sure that nobody else was present - and, indeed, they were alone. It was only then that the Doctor began to explain.

"I've sedated her," he admitted. "I scanned her brain, and found that her neural pathways were already starting to adapt to their new configuration."

Chakotay glanced at her, then back at the Doctor. "That's good, isn't it?" he asked. "It sounds like she's healing."

The Doctor shook his head, looking down at his patient. "No, it's not...if we allow her brain to heal itself, not only will it take a long time, but she may never fully recover - she'll be a different person, and I have a feeling the change won't be for the better."

Then he addressed _Voyager_ 's former First Officer. "If the procedure is to be reversed, it needs to happen immediately, or else it won't be possible - the more her brain adapts, the harder it'll be to trace - and the more damage will be done by undoing - what was done before. Her behavior before you brought her in may actually have saved her; as long as her body was being abused, her brain was too busy to start building new pathways."

He sighed then, looking guilty. "I hate to admit it, but the last couple of days have been detrimental; I should have kept her sedated as you originally suggested."

"It's okay, Doctor. There was no way for you to know. Let's just hope it's not too late."

Nodding his agreement, the Doctor changed the subject. "Did you succeed in contacting Species 8472?"

"Yes," the human answered. "But they're not going to help. We're on our own."

"Very well," the hologram responded. "Luckily, I've spent the last few days examining treatment possibilities, and I believe I have a viable option."

"Go on," Chakotay urged.

"We'll need some of Seven's nanoprobes," he explained. "I can modify them to seek out the microsurgery points and reroute the connections. However, since we're doing this a little late, the nanoprobes will need to actively test the repairs as they work." Looking apologetic and slightly fearful, he explained further. "She'll need to be conscious for the entire procedure."

 _Spirits_ , Chakotay thought to himself, _that sounds painful_. "You can't give her a light sedative? Something to make it less traumatic?"

"No," the Doctor answered sadly. "We need the brain to be functioning normally. There are no pain receptors in the brain," he added, "so she won't feel the nanoprobes doing their work. What she will feel is the result - they'll be sending signals through her neural pathways, and what she'll experience is unpredictable, but it'll likely be disorienting, at the very least. Of course, I'll immobilize her from the neck down so she won't involuntarily damage her body."

To Chakotay, this sounded extremely scary. "Are you asking me to authorize it?" he prodded.

The Doctor's gaze gave him his affirmation. "The alternative is to let her brain continue to adapt," he reminded the human, "but as I've said, I wouldn't recommend it."

"I don't know if I can make that choice," the large man admitted.

Then, a gravelly female voice interrupted them. "You don't have to, Chakotay."

Kathryn had awoken sometime during their conversation. Chakotay looked down at her as she continued, addressing the hologram. "Do it, Doctor."

"Are you sure?" Chakotay asked her, alarmed.

Her response was so quiet he almost asked her to repeat it. "I can't live like this."

Eyeing her, the Doctor tapped his communicator. "Seven of Nine," he called, "please report to Sickbay immediately."

An hour later, Seven had happily donated and helped to program the requisite nanoprobes, and had returned to the cargo bay to regenerate.

"Are you ready to begin?" the Doctor asked his patient, who nodded unhesitatingly in response. "Very well," he said, as he injected her with a hypospray.

Immediately, she felt a strange sensation throughout her body, and realized that this was the promised paralysis - she couldn't move. Ordinarily, she would have found this alarming, but she felt no fear.

Then, she observed as he injected her again - the nanoprobes, she assumed. Closing her eyes, she awaited whatever was to come. Soon, a plethora of jumbled images and sensations assaulted her, and she struggled to ride the wave of chaos.

Chakotay squeezed Kathryn's hand, forgetting that she wouldn't be able to pull it away if his touch made her uncomfortable. He watched as she closed her eyes, and for the first half-hour or so, there was little visible evidence that anything at all was happening to her.

Turning around to face the Doctor, who was monitoring her readings, he whispered, "is it working?" The Doctor nodded, silently.

After thirty-five minutes, she began to softly moan at irregular intervals, while Chakotay whispered to her. "Hang on, Kathryn...it's all right. It'll be over soon."

Fifty-three minutes into the procedure, she began to laugh, and her former First Officer didn't know whether to be afraid or overjoyed, but before he could decide, her apparent mirth quickly dissipated.

Exactly sixty-eight minutes and forty-four seconds after the injection of nanoprobes, she let out a blood-curdling scream, and Chakotay glanced, alarmed, at the Doctor, who tried to reassure him with a look. He began to murmur at her again, all the while tenderly stroking her brow.

After nearly ninety minutes, the Doctor announced that the procedure had been successful, and that it was time to remove the nanoprobes and restore her mobility.

Chakotay continued petting her forehead, and with his thumb, brushed away the tears wetting her cheeks. _When had she started crying_? It occurred to him that he hadn't seen her cry since they'd left Earth. "The worst is over," he told her. "You'll be okay soon." The Doctor had warned him that she would be disoriented, so he didn't worry that she didn't respond to his reassurances.

Finally, after sending the command to the tiny machines to retreat and collecting them from her bloodstream, the Doctor injected her with the drug that would reverse her paralysis. For a moment, nothing happened, but then, violently, she jerked and twisted, almost falling to the floor as she vomited over the side of the biobed.

Holding her from behind, Chakotay stroked her hair as she panted to recover. Then he felt her relax slightly and turn around to face him. He deliberated as to whether to embrace her as she looked up at him; she'd been so averse to his touch in the last few days, and he didn't want to make this experience any worse for her than it already was. But then she made the choice for him, throwing herself into his arms and sobbing loudly.

He closed his eyes and held her tightly, stroking her back and whispering reassurances to her. When he opened them again, the Doctor was approaching with a hypospray, and he held up a hand to stop the hologram from sedating her. "Wait," he ordered, "let her be." Then he picked her up in his arms and sat down on the biobed, cradling her in his lap.

The Doctor gave him a disapproving look, but retreated, all the while observing the scene, ready to spring into action should the need arise. But it didn't, and gradually, she calmed, her sobs quieting to soft sniffles as her head rested against his chest.

Finally, extraordinarily, her first coherent utterance was a reassurance directed at the man in whose arms she was nestled. "Thank you, Chakotay," she spoke into his chest, pausing to snuffle, her breath coming raggedly with the remnants of her tears, "for taking care of me."

Still holding her tightly, forgetting the Doctor's presence, Chakotay began to silently weep with relief, sensing immediately that she was going to be okay. With that knowledge, he allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her in his arms, something he realized he'd sorely missed over the last few weeks. The Federation and Species 8472 could wait. Kathryn was coming back.


	22. Act IV, Scene 5: Healing

Kathryn had finally regained some of her control after one of the most frightening experiences of her life. It was indescribable, the torrent of vastly varying experiences she'd just endured, jumbled and incoherent, piled one atop another like a vast dump overfull with discarded memories, thoughts, hopes, and fears, some buried so deep she'd forgotten them. When she emerged, she was extremely dizzy; it was far worse than anything she'd endured at the Academy during training exercises. If she'd remembered the space sickness she'd suffered in an alternate timeline aboard the temporally-distorted _Voyager_ , the rare illness that had brought her voluntarily to Sickbay for treatment, she'd have known that too was mild indigestion by comparison.

She'd felt the bile rising in her throat along with a half-coherent thought… _not again_ …and remembered soiling the pristine Sickbay rug before collapsing into Chakotay's arms. Exhausted and overwhelmed, she knew not how long she stayed there, crying like a panicked child, still floundering to surface from a whirlpool full of threatening feelings, but somehow, grateful for the onslaught of emotion which served as antithesis to the dull, distant apathy and muted anger that had been her constant companions over the last week.

Finally, her memories began to cohere, lining up in her mind like well-trained cadets after a mock battle, and she was suddenly grateful for Chakotay's continued support, especially given how she'd treated him over the last few days. She realized he must be very worried – she would be if it had been he who'd been ill – and she needed to say something to let him know that she was not going to hurt him again.

So she thanked him. He probably didn't know that she felt his tears drip onto her head after that, and when she realized that he was also crying, she first felt a wave of protective concern, and then, crashing over the first and submerging it, an intense onslaught of shame. Had she really…?

She began to push away from him, and he obediently let her go, helping her to slide off of his lap until she was sitting on the biobed, her legs dangling over the side, then setting himself down onto the floor where he stood, turning to face her, his hand delicately placed upon her knee.

His face was full of concern and relief and something else…could it be love? Even after everything she'd put him through? The fullness of his eyes as he gazed at her threatened to summon her tears again, and she fought to stay calm.

Breathing deeply to fuel her resolve, she spoke again. "I imagine you're getting pretty tired of me, Chakotay."

At that, he smiled slightly, his dimpled cheeks threatening to erode every measure of restraint she had in place. "Never," he stated, and although he meant it, she didn't believe him.

"Please," she begged him, lifting a hand to touch his cheek, "take some time to yourself. I'll be okay here."

 _I just got you back and you want me to leave?_ he thought. Then it occurred to him that perhaps she didn't want his company, and, reluctantly, he nodded. Throwing caution to the wind – he'd restrained himself enough over the last few days – he brushed her hair from her forehead, then leaned down and kissed it, not waiting for her reaction before he hurried out of Sickbay.

Astonished, she brushed her hand over the spot on her forehead where he'd kissed her, feeling the lingering caress of his lips, then covered her mouth as her tears began anew.

However, before she had a chance to dehydrate herself any further, the Doctor approached with a hypospray, and, unhindered this time, pressed it to her neck. Her lids became heavy, and before she lost consciousness, she felt the Doctor's warm photonic hands lift her legs and press down on her shoulder, forcing her to lie flat once again on the biobed.

When she awoke, she inhaled deeply, realizing that for the first time in as long as she could remember, she actually felt pretty good. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring directly into the face of the holographic Doctor, and immediately, she felt the energy draining away from her body as fast as it had entered her.

"How long?" she croaked at her observer, finding her mouth dry and rancid as she struggled into a sitting position.

He smiled smugly at her, and offered her a glass of water, which she gratefully began to gulp. "Easy, there," the Doctor ordered, as his voice, a familiar annoyance, grated at her core. "You'll make yourself sick again." And before she could have her fill, he snatched it away from her, and she resisted the urge to grab it back. Instead, she regarded him steadily, letting him know she expected an answer to her question.

"About six hours," he told her. "And you'll need to rest more."

Retorts flashed through her brain. _I don't want to rest any more. I want to do something. Where's Chakotay?_ But she kept her temper, and instead asked him a question she already knew the answer to. "I don't suppose you'll let me do that in my quarters, will you?"

The Doctor grinned wryly. "Nice try, Admiral. You'll be a guest of mine for at least two days." _I don't think I can endure two days of this, especially if Chakotay doesn't come back_. "Don't worry, I'm a decent host. If you want anything, just ask; I'm happy to provide you with an assortment of approved items." _Approved items? What is this, a prison?_ Then she remembered. _No, it's an asylum, and I'm a mental patient. Will I ever live this down?_

Then the Doctor once again interrupted her thoughts, answering her unspoken questions. "And no, coffee and work-related PADDs are not on that list. And don't even think about trying to escape; I'll restrain you if I have to."

Thoughts of reprogramming the Doctor came to her mind, but she repressed them, knowing that he was right; in his position, she wouldn't trust herself either. And knowing Chakotay, they probably took her command codes days ago, so she wouldn't succeed even if she tried. She sighed, anticipating a lengthy duration of humiliation, and lay back down on the biobed, neglecting to request anything to occupy herself; she needed some time alone with her thoughts anyway, and did her best to ignore the other presence in the room.

Her handsome caretaker came to see her frequently during her stay in Sickbay, but his visits were short, and not by his choice. Each time, she deliberately sent him away, assuring him that she was fine and that he had more important things to do than look after her. In truth, she felt deeply guilty for everything he'd been through, and while one part of her longed to linger in his arms again, another part reminded her, each time she saw his face, of the shame that would be with her for the rest of her life. While she found the Doctor annoying, somehow she didn't care so much that he had seen her so broken and misled.

What she didn't know was that each time Chakotay called on her, he was assessing her condition, assuring himself further each time that his friend…the woman he loved…had returned, and thus surmising the frustration that lurked underneath her dismissive assurances.

At long last, the Doctor called him into his office and they closed the door, making sure they were out of the admiral's earshot and line of sight. "She's a model patient," he admitted. "I can't find anything wrong with her, and she's behaving herself better than she ever has before in my Sickbay."

Chakotay nodded, knowing this meant that Kathryn was itching desperately to get out of there. "I'm still uncomfortable leaving her alone," he admitted.

The Doctor concurred. "As am I. She fooled us all before."

"But you think she's all right now? She's better?" he asked, hopeful.

"In my medical opinion, she's healthy and sane," the Doctor confirmed.

"But…?" Chakotay prompted.

The Doctor looked sideways at him, frowning. "But, frankly, I'm still worried. She may be okay for now, but her situation now is similar to that before she went on that suicide mission, and she's been through so much; it's hard to tell how it's affecting her. When it finally starts to sink in, she may fall back into depression and…worse things."

He continued. "Furthermore, the longer we…babysit her, for lack of a better word, the more we reinforce her understanding that we don't trust her not to relapse. And that could be detrimental to her recovery as well."

"Damned if we do, damned if we don't," Chakotay muttered. The Doctor eyed him, and whether he'd understood the remark was unclear. But before the Doctor could ask about it, the human spoke again.

"I guess I'll just have to convince her that she wants my company," Chakotay decided.

The Doctor looked askance at him. "Good luck, Sir…you're going to need it."

Thirty seconds later, Chakotay was standing next to the biobed on which Kathryn was sprawled, engrossed by what looked to be a nineteenth or twentieth-century novel, in paper book form. "Your place or mine?" he asked her flirtatiously.

She looked up, startled. "What?" she asked.

"The Doctor's sick of you. So I'm offering to escort you out of here. So, whose quarters would you like to visit first?"

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and the ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "Mine," she answered. "I feel like I haven't been there in ages. Although…" She paused, remembering something.

He smiled then. "Don't worry, it's all cleaned up."

"Oh Chakotay," she sighed, "you didn't have to do that."

"I didn't," he deadpanned. "I made Seven do it. As punishment for getting us captured."

Kathryn looked horrified. Chakotay offered her a hand to get down off the biobed and reassured her. "I'm just kidding. I was happy to do it." Then, as she allowed him to guide her out of Sickbay with a hand behind her shoulder, he continued brightly. "It wasn't my first experience of that nature. Did I ever tell you about the time my roommate at the Academy got hopelessly drunk and then got confused as to which bed was his?"

She made a disgusted face at him, anticipating where this was going.

He smiled at her. "Suffice it to say, I didn't bother washing anything. I used a week's worth of replicator rations to replace sheets, pillows, and mattress. Poor guy – I never forgave him. I made the rest of his semester pretty miserable. It didn't help that I wasn't having the best time myself. I almost dropped out after that year."

Kathryn wanted to know more about Chakotay's experience, but didn't want to intrude on his privacy, instead opting to ask about the roommate. "What ever happened to him?" she queried curiously.

Chakotay looked wistful for a moment as they entered the turbolift. "Deck Three," he ordered before he answered her. "I don't know; I didn't keep in touch with him. He was only my bunkmate for our first year. I don't even remember whether I saw him at graduation. For all I know, he's dead."

They shared a moment of silence, as both recalled the original reason for their reunion. Then the turbolift doors opened, and they continued down the hall towards her room.

After they entered, and the doors closed behind them, Kathryn began to slowly walk around the room, her hands tracing the walls and the furniture. Finally, she stopped at the viewport, mesmerized once again by the streaking stars.

Chakotay stood and observed, wondering what she was up to, only vaguely realizing what a private moment he was witnessing and how much she must trust him to let him see. Her back was to him as she gazed at the stars, and so his only indication that something was happening was a soft noise, almost undetectable. He held his breath for a moment to listen, and then realized the sound was of Kathryn sniffling.

Not wanting to intrude, but concerned about her, he approached slowly until he was at her side. Her hand was on her mouth and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, reminding her that he was still present. She turned around to face him, dropped her hand, and visibly struggled to regain her composure.

"I'm sorry, Chakotay," she whispered. "Everything's so emotional. I think I've cried more in the last month than in my entire adult life before, but I just can't seem to stop."

"It's okay," he told her, gently squeezing her shoulder. "Cry as much as you need to. _Les larmes qu'on ne pleure pas dans notre_ _âme retombent toutes_."

"What?" she asked, caught unawares by the unexpected language of his remark.

"It's from a late nineteenth-century opera called _Werther_ , by a French composer, Jules Massenet. A young woman has realized the love of her life is dead, and she's trying to explain to her little sister why she's crying. The quote translates roughly to 'tears which you do not cry fall inside your soul'. Crying is healthy, Kathryn."

Trying to keep from completely losing it, she looked up at him and changed the subject. "I didn't know you were an opera buff."

"I'm not," he answered, "but I recently attended a performance of that work featuring our very own holographic doctor."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I would have liked to have seen that…I didn't know about it." And then her thoughts traveled to all the things she'd missed in the last two years, and all the things she would be missing in the future if she'd stayed dead – and she remembered wanting to be dead, and suddenly she was crying again, and her hands returned to her mouth, attempting to stifle the sobs which weren't so quiet now.

Tenderly, Chakotay took her hands in his and drew them away from her face, allowing the sounds of her grief to escape into the air between them. Then he took hold of her shoulders, gently nudging her towards him, and she stepped gratefully into his embrace. Her arms went around his waist, as his wrapped around her shoulders.

"I'm here," he told her as her tears soaked into his shirt. "It's okay."


	23. Act IV, Scene 6: Trust

"It's humiliating, you know," she told him while munching slowly on a stick of replicated celery.

He looked at her sideways, putting down his spoon. "What is?"

"You, babysitting me," she answered quickly. "I know what you're doing. You haven't been further than ten meters from me since you 'escorted' me out of Sickbay. It's been three days, Chakotay. You've got to be hurting from sleeping on my couch."

"I don't mind," he said idly, picking up his spoon again, as if there were nothing odd about the whole affair. "Good soup," he remarked.

She rolled her eyes at him. "It should be, you replicated it."

They ate silently for a few minutes, until she spoke anew. "What do I have to do to earn your trust again?" she asked him, her voice wavering with vulnerability.

He stopped then, realizing how serious she was. Putting down his utensils, he stared at her for a moment before speaking, trying to figure out how to reply.

Sighing, he responded. "It's not that."

Frowning darkly, she decided she didn't believe him. "What is it, then? You can get someone else to 'watch' me, you know. I'm even willing to go back to Sickbay if need be. Seven probably misses you terribly."

That made him angry. Throwing down his napkin on the table, he stood up. "Is that what you think, Kathryn? That I've stayed with you only because I don't trust you to be alone, and I'm just biding my time to go back to my…?"

He didn't finish, as she interrupted him. "Last I recall, Chakotay, you were happily kissing her in Astrometrics…"

"That was weeks ago!" he cut in forcefully.

"You were captured together," she pointed out, rising to stand, her hands flat on the table. "I didn't ask you what you did with your time in that cell, but I can imagine…when I came to get you, she was in your arms…"

"Spirits, Kathryn, she was unconscious!"

She didn't reply, but her eyes made her accusation clear.

Chakotay stared at her, battling simultaneous urges to slap her, kiss her, and bolt from the room.

"I want you out, Chakotay," Kathryn said, quietly, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

Taking a deep breath while suppressing the sudden desire to wring her neck, Chakotay eyed her carefully, trying to determine what was going on inside that irascible mind of hers. Finally, he made his decision. "You don't mean that," he said.

Raising her voice only slightly from its previous level, she spoke again, more determined. "Yes, I do," she said. "I'm tired of having you watching over me, waiting for me to break. I'm tired of waking up in the middle of the night, screaming, only to find you at my side, holding me in your arms before I even have a chance to realize that I was dreaming. I'm tired of crying, Chakotay. And I'm especially tired of having you watch me cry, pretending that you are enjoying it…" Her voice trailed off, and a tear slipped down her cheek, and this time, he knew he couldn't just reach out and wipe it away.

He stared at her, dumbfounded, his urges replaced by confusion and uncertainty, the Doctor's warning coming back to him. _The longer we babysit her…reinforce her understanding…we don't trust her…detrimental to her recovery…_

Finally, he nodded, understanding what he had to do. "All right, Kathryn, I'll leave…but I need you to know this first."

He paused, making sure that she was going to listen this time. "I did kiss Seven, and for that I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I'm not in love with her, and she knows that now. She also knows who I _am_ in love with…you."

And with that, he quickly turned and walked out of the room and out of her quarters, leaving her stunned and speechless. Collapsing back into her chair, she hung her head in her hands and let her tears fall.

The next day, she showed up in the Ready Room, dressed in her uniform. As she walked through the bridge, she was keenly aware of the eyes on her, tracing her path, but she looked pointedly forward, refusing to acknowledge them. She didn't know how much or how little they knew of her illness, and she didn't want to find out.

She didn't bother to ring the chime – it was _her_ Ready Room, after all, even if she had been relieved of duty. Had she even been relieved, officially? There had been no announcement, no confrontation – she just hadn't returned to work, and the ship had been running itself without her, and, she realized, without Chakotay, at least for the last few days – though today, he was on duty.

Suddenly she felt obsolete, and wondered whether this was even a good idea, but it was her right to run her own ship, even if it wasn't her ship anymore, even if it was stolen property. _Borrowed_ , she reminded herself. _We will give it back_. Though she briefly toyed with the idea of just running off with it, alone, after she dropped her crew back on Earth. Realizing the ridiculousness of the whole situation, she fought the urge to laugh, but then the doors parted, and her thoughts turned back to the task at hand.

When she entered, he didn't look surprised to see her.

"You're in my chair," she accused. _I want my ship back_.

His eyes flashed with amusement, which only fueled her ire. _Make me relinquish it_ , he dared her silently.

She sighed, realizing that she had no bargaining chips. This wasn't an official mission, she wasn't officially in command to begin with, and he wasn't officially her crewman anymore. And she most definitely was not going to be reduced to begging for her job back. Defeated, she turned to leave.

"Wait," he ordered, and, despite the oddness of the situation, she obeyed, freezing in her tracks, facing the door.

He got up slowly, then walked towards her. She sensed his movement, but did not turn around. He placed a hand on her shoulder, applying just enough pressure to force her to turn to face him. She looked up at him, defiant and frustrated, her face inches from his.

The air between them seemed to crackle with electricity, and he desperately wanted to close that gap and kiss her, but he knew now was not the right time.

Instead, he spoke to the computer. "Transfer command codes to Admiral Kathryn Janeway, authorization Chakotay Alpha Pi Tau Zeta." _You see, Kathryn, I do trust you_.

For the second time in as many days, he exited a room, leaving her behind, shocked into a momentary stupor.


	24. Act IV, Scene 7: Loyalty Reprise

Once more, the command team stood at the threshold of the cargo bay, the admiral looking more than a little rattled, but knowing that this duty had been postponed too long.

"Are you ready?" he asked her, touching her forearm lightly. She shivered slightly from the caress, then nodded.

She'd already met with the rescued prisoners as they'd requested over two weeks ago. They were adoring fans of a type to which she was not accustomed, shaking her hand and offering praise and gratitude for her bravery, and she suffered through the whole affair. A young man, one Lieutenant Junior Grade Strickland, unnerved her thoroughly when he told her whilst clasping her hand tightly, "I wish we could have thanked you sooner." He'd flashed her a sweet smile, and she'd suppressed the sudden urge to knock out a few of his perfect teeth.

When she'd told Chakotay of the interaction, he'd laughed and told her that he suspected the young lieutenant had a bit of a crush on the heroic admiral; a crush he professed, while eyeing her appreciatively, to understand thoroughly. That had brought a smile to her lips, if only for a moment.

Now, those ten Starfleet crewmen were manning the ship so that the rest of the compliment could participate in this belated exercise.

Drawing a deep breath, Admiral Janeway walked again through the doors that had slid aside to allow her entry. She observed the crew - one hundred forty-six people, now including Harry Kim and Tal Celes, lined up as before.

But suddenly, one of them, the shortest of the set, broke rank, running towards her and flinging herself at the woman to whom she'd once dreamed of becoming assistant. Without thinking, Kathryn threw her arms around the child, embracing her for a treasured moment before releasing her.

Tal Celes was next, followed by Naomi's mother. Each in turn hugged the admiral or shook her hand warmly, and Kathryn struggled valiantly to maintain her composure as the touching gestures brought tears to her eyes. A few also whispered words to her.

_Welcome back, Admiral...We missed you...It's an honor to serve with you again..._

Ironically, it was only Chakotay with whom she did not share a moment of communion; he observed everything from behind or beside her and neglected to take a turn for himself. Finally, she reached the podium, and held up a hand to silence the murmuring crowd.

"Thank you, friends," she spoke, "for that touching gesture. However, we have come here to remember those who have passed. And I assure you, rumors of my death have been somewhat exaggerated."

At that, a nervous chuckle rippled through the audience, though Janeway herself did not even smile. It wasn't, after all, a joke, not really.

"We originally gathered to mourn the loss of a dear friend, our Ocampa companion, Kes. She lived nine years but filled them with more caring, good, and honorable acts than most accomplish in a hundred." Her voice cracked slightly, and she paused, swallowing.

"But she is not the only one we have lost over the last few weeks. Sadly, we must also remember Crewman William Telfer, whose bravery when it counted will not be forgotten." Pausing again, she thought of the shuttle mission on which she had taken him, soon before they'd finally returned to the Alpha Quadrant.

Then she looked around the room, searching for faces that begged to speak. "I would like to now invite you to come up and share your memories of Kes and Crewman Telfer."

Stepping down, she observed as several people got up, some in tears, sharing stories of her former charges. Admiral Janeway, knowing she needed to remain strong for her crew, did not cry.

Finally, a salute was sounded, and an empty coffin - for neither body was present - was launched into space. The crew mingled then, sharing more stories and memories, and Kathryn mingled with them for a while, until she felt she could slip away unnoticed.

One crewmember, however, observed her exit and followed her out. Approaching her from behind and placing a hand on her arm to stop her, he complained, "I missed my hug."

She smiled, turning to face him. "Walk me to my quarters, and you just might get it," she told him. And when they reached her doorway, she honored her promise. He almost thought he could sneak a goodnight kiss, but she broke the embrace - and the moment of opportunity - quickly.

As if reading his mind, she explained, "it wouldn't be fair to everyone else, you know."

Nodding, disappointed, he bade her farewell. "Goodnight, Kathryn."

Disappearing into her quarters, she responded over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Chakotay."

That night, on opposing sides of a Starfleet-issue internal starship wall, they both slept well. It was to be their last good night of sleep, for the next day marked their return to face, finally, the repercussions of their actions, whatever they might be.

 


	25. Act V, Scene 1: Court Martial

In orbit of the home planet of mankind, _Voyager_ drifted gracefully, unmanned, piloted by remote, its peaceful glide belying the turmoil many miles below it. All those who had resided inside its walls over the past few weeks were crammed, not so gracefully, into the hearing chamber where, before the Federation Council, they were being tried.

On one side sat the rescued prisoners, valued witnesses to the events in question, with the exception of Harry Kim, who had risen to stand with his friends as they entered the hall. On the other side was the majority of _Voyager_ 's former crew. Only the official Starfleet officers of the bridge crew stood before the Council, representing the other Starfleet officers who had been involved. In order were Janeway, Chakotay, Tuvok, Paris, Torres, and Kim.

"Lieutenant Commander Kim," the President remarked, "you do not stand accused."

"I stand," Harry spoke, well aware that he was repeating the words of one Captain Spock, a century ago, in an eerily similar situation, "with my shipmates."

The President nodded. "Very well."

The charges were read, among them conspiracy, theft of Starfleet property, trespassing into enemy territory, and, worst of all, terrorism - for the destruction of the Breen facility.

Lightly, almost imperceptibly, Chakotay brushed his arm against his former captain's, sensing her unease and wanting to remind her, silently, that she was not alone.

"Admiral," the President asked. "How do you plead?"

Again, aware that she was a veritable echo of one Admiral James T. Kirk, she expended all her energy to keep her voice steady as she replied, "on behalf of my crew, Sir, Not Guilty."

The crowd murmured, and the President held up a hand to silence them.

"In general," he began, "the ends do not justify the means, and all of you would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law, and of Federation policies.

"However," he continued, "we are well aware of the bond this particular crew has shared, having worked closely together, so far away from your friends and family, for seven long years, and we do not expect that, even two years later, your loyalty to one another, and to your former captain, should dissolve.

"Furthermore, we are grateful for the information you have brought us, along with the successful rescue of twelve Starfleet officers."

He paused then, looking around the room, observing the reaction. "We have recently suffered the highest casualties in Federation history at the hands of the Dominion, and we do not wish to repeat this at the hands of Species 8472, the Breen, or any other enemy. The accused are among those who must and will help to prevent such a war."

Taking a breath, he looked directly at Admiral Janeway, who stared back at him, forcing herself to appear strong, though she did not feel it.

"Admiral Janeway, please step forward," he ordered, and she complied, instantly feeling the loss of Chakotay by her side.

"It is the Council's decision that, in light of the dire situation, we absolve the rest of your crew. Only you remain accused."

She nodded, expecting a similar punishment to Kirk's. Noticing that her knees were shaking slightly with anticipation, she attempted to quell them.

Then the President's speech took an unexpected turn. "You, Admiral Janeway, led your former crew into enemy territory, risked their lives, and lost your own - in order to save the small remaining compliment of another ship. Your actions were brave, but they were also incredibly foolish. By all rights, you should not be alive. Once again, you have cheated fate, but it is the Council's judgment that you are far too reckless to be trusted at this time."

She felt her knees begin to buckle, and she willed herself to remain strong, squeezing her fists and breathing deeply to calm her nerves.

"You have been an asset to this Federation, Admiral, and perhaps one day, you will be again. But at this time, we are stripping you of your rank and your duties, and asking that you submit to psychological counseling and an extended leave of absence."

 _I will not cry_ , she told herself repeatedly as she struggled to remain upright. But then, she felt herself overcome with a curious sensation, and realized, with belated panic, that she was no longer in control of her own body.

Chakotay watched in horror as Kathryn, as if to prove the President's point about her mental instability, fell to her knees and performed an unspeakable act he'd been sure he'd never see her do again, and this time, in front of the entire Federation Council and her former crew. It was as if he were watching an atom bomb explode in slow motion, knowing there was nothing he could do, but that the destruction of his world was at hand. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that this was somehow different - her movement was stilted, like a marionette, but more confusion was to presently erupt, distracting him from making a conclusion about what he had observed.

Meanwhile, miles above this horrific scene, _Voyager_ exploded into tiny bits, some of which immediately began to fall into Earth's atmosphere, creating a sparkling light show for bewildered observers on the surface of the planet.

Back in the hall, there was a moment of shocked silence, but then, when the audience realized what they were seeing, a muddled cacophony of voices began to rise. _She's insane...what the?...she's protesting...she's sick..._

Two guards came to Janeway's side, prepared to take her away, and she slumped between them, limp and pliant, hardly the same person who had, just moments ago, stared defiantly into the President's eyes. An aide approached the President, whispering into his ear about the news from outside.

Kathryn's eyes were to the floor, but they were suddenly on fire, and, amidst the confusion, more quickly than anyone could react, she had drawn one of the guard's phasers, and in one fell swoop, set it to kill...and fired into the crowd.

Another guard quickly stunned her, and she fell to the floor, unconscious, splashing into the pool of her own emesis.

Witnessing it all, wanting to run to her and erase time but knowing he could not, Chakotay began to cry, and was only dimly aware of the new murmurs bubbling through the crowd as they carried his former captain away unceremoniously.

_She's shot Strickland...he's dead...hold Janeway for questioning...dangerous criminal..._

It was nearly four hours before Chakotay was able to find her, locked away in a Federation holding cell, held for questioning about the murder and her disgusting display.

It was the tears in his eyes that persuaded the guard to let him in to speak with her. They lowered the force field, and he stepped inside, searching the dim cell for the enigmatic woman.

Finally, his eyes found her, huddled in a ball in the corner of the room. Instantly, he was at her side, kneeling in front of her, turning her face up to him. In all the years he'd known her, he had never seen her exhibit such a look of naked vulnerability, and suddenly he remembered what he had observed, and concluded that she had been unspeakably violated. He pulled her towards him and held her for a moment, and he felt her trembling in his arms. But although her eyes were red and puffy from crying, she did not weep now, and began to push him away almost immediately.

With his hands still on her arms, he reluctantly allowed her to pull away, sensing her urgency. It was then that she made her plea. "It wasn't me," she whispered.

"I know," he told her, reaching forward to touch a mat of hair that was plastered to her forehead. With his fingers, he plied at it, finally getting it unstuck and brushing it out of her eyes.

Then she spoke again. "The body...make sure the Doctor sees it...our Doctor..."

He nodded, not understanding why, but knowing that it was imperative to honor her request.

Then the guard cleared his throat, and Chakotay knew his borrowed time had concluded. Again, he pulled her to him, squeezing her as hard as he could without hurting her, and whispered in her ear, "I'll get you out. I promise."

Then the guard lowered the force field and he stepped out, looking over his shoulder one last time at the broken woman in the cell, his eyes once again overflowing with shame and grief, and now, with the beginnings of rage. _Whoever did this to her will pay..._

Two hours later, _Voyager_ 's Mark One EMH pressed a hypospray to the body in the morgue, and it reverted to its natural form. Around him, the human doctors gasped. After all, they'd never before seen, in person, an 8472.


	26. Act V, Scene 2: Fugitive

_Kathryn...wake up...it's time to go..._

Squeezing her eyes closed, Kathryn groaned. _I don't feel good, Daddy...don't want to go to school today..._

_Come on, Kathryn, wake up, you're scaring me...please..._

That voice. It wasn't her father. Disoriented, she cracked open her eyes, and was assaulted with the reality that she was not in her bed, and was, in fact, on the cold hard floor of a prison cell. She shivered as warm hands gently lifted her into a sitting position. Still not fully awake, she began to blink, trying to remember how she got here, and when she finally did recall, she felt her heart sink in her chest. Her throat constricted, but before her tear ducts could react, she felt a finger on her chin, and found herself looking straight into dark brown pools of worry.

"Chakotay," she spoke. She dimly recalled their previous meeting, but not much since. "They took my blood," she remarked.

"I know," he answered her. "They're testing everyone. They have to find out if there are any more...stowaways. I'm sorry."

She looked at him questioningly. "Stowaways?"

"Like Strickland," he explained. "How did you know he was an 8472?"

Suddenly, she relaxed, as if from profound relief. "I didn't..."

His thumb came up to stroke her cheek. "Then why did you tell me to have the Doctor check the body?"

She shifted, sitting straighter again, trying to clear her mind of cobwebs and remember what she had said to him many hours ago. "I had a hunch..." And then, agitation filling her voice, "Christ, Chakotay...if I'd been wrong...I shot him..."

"Wait," he stopped her as his hand went back to her shoulder, "I thought you said it wasn't you."

She bit her lip. "I didn't...you know. But then..."

He tried to make sense of her jumbled replies, and failed. "I don't understand."

She took a breath, trying to compose her thoughts and explain it without reliving the horror of that moment. "I felt something...take over. And, oh God, Chakotay, if I'd fought harder...but I had to know...I think I had a feeling what he was going to do...to make me do..." She stopped abruptly, and a tear fell down her cheek.

Chakotay cupped the side of her face with his hand, realizing with horror what she was saying. "Listen to me, Kathryn, it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself for what happened...just explain it to me. Please."

She was silent for a moment, and he waited for her, gently rubbing her shoulders. Finally, she spoke again. "I was so angry...what he did...it was like my worst possible nightmare, suddenly a reality, and I had to fight it, but I didn't, not at first...and suddenly I just knew, I knew who was doing it...and I pushed him out of my mind...and then I shot him." Another tear rolled down her cheek and she sniffled. "I killed him."

Chakotay fought the urge to smile with satisfaction at this revelation, instead focusing on his charge. "Kathryn, we have to get out of here...it's not safe."

She was confused again. "They're letting me go? After what I did?"

He cringed. "Not...exactly. I'll explain later. Now you have to come with me." Then he stood, bringing her up with him.

Immediately, the color drained from her face, and, without thinking, he pushed her back to the floor and pressed down on her head, forcing it between her legs. Stroking her back, he waited a minute, then released her, allowing her to look up at him. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Okay, okay, stupid question," he answered himself. "Do you want to try that again? Maybe you just stood up too fast."

Then she emitted a strange sound, and it took him a moment to figure out that she was laughing - strangely, bitterly, but laughing nonetheless. "What is it?" he asked curiously.

"That's what I told Tuvok...when he found me in my quarters...after I left you on the planet..." Then the laughs dissolved into sobs, and she hid her face in her hands.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a moment, but knew that they could not afford the luxury of wallowing right now. "Come on," he urged her, pulling away. "You have your choice, piggyback or I'll just carry you."

She looked back at him, frustration in her face. "Piggyback," she answered. _I'd like to at least pretend I have some dignity left_.

He nodded solemnly, then turned away from her, squatting. "Hop on," he ordered.

Feeling ridiculous but realizing she wasn't going to make it any other way, she grabbed onto him and allowed him to lift her legs around his torso. He carried her through the darkened facility to its transporter room, letting her down only when they'd materialized on a landing pad and entered the waiting shuttle. He then held onto her as she sat down in the copilot's seat.

By then, she finally had enough of her wits about her to start trying to figure out what was going on. "Where are we going?" she asked him.

"Far away," was all he said as he sat down beside her and began the launch sequence. Then he repeated what he'd told her earlier. "It's not safe here anymore."

Bewildered, she looked questioningly at him. "Why?"

"Later," was all he said as he launched the shuttle.

They were silent for nearly an hour, until finally she spoke. "I don't suppose there's a bathtub in here."

For a moment, he smiled, but then, as he realized she hadn't had a chance to wash since the hearing, and was probably feeling very uncomfortable, his smile dissolved into a grimace. "There's a sonic shower in the back," he told her. "I'm sorry, it's the best I can do."

She nodded, and moved to get up, but he pushed her back down into the chair. "Wait," he ordered. "You're in no shape..." His voice trailed off as she glared menacingly at him.

"I have to fly," he explained. "When we get out of this sector...it should only be another couple of hours...then I can put the shuttle on autopilot. In the meantime, you should replicate yourself some food. The guard told me you weren't eating."

She continued to glare at him angrily. "You are not going to...watch me...as I shower," she told him indignantly.

"Kathryn, you almost fainted! You haven't eaten, you took a phaser blast...you were in shock for god knows how long...if it weren't for the fact that I need to get you as far from Earth as possible right now, I'd have taken you to the nearest medical facility!"

Frustrated, but knowing he was right, she conceded. "All right," she told him. "I'll replicate myself some soup..."

"Good," he said. Then he amended it. "Wait, I don't want you getting up and falling down...I'll get it for you. What kind do you want?"

"You know," she answered bitterly, "I take it back...it wasn't humiliating before, when you were staying with me in my quarters."

"Okay, chicken soup it is," he answered lightly. "Watch the controls," he ordered as he rose to get her the meal.

She slowly nibbled at the soup as they sat in silence once again. Then, before he could stop her, she rose and recycled the bowl. He eyed her disapprovingly, but was gratified to see that she seemed stronger.

Finally, they were out of the sector, and he put the shuttle on autopilot as he'd promised. He then followed her into the aft section, and she gave him a withering look of warning. "You are not going to..." she started.

"All right," he conceded. "But I'll be right here, right outside, just in case...call if..."

She just glared at him, halting his warnings.

Nervously, he sat outside as he'd promised, waiting for the telltale "thump" of a body falling, but it didn't happen. He rose from the floor as she emerged, wearing a towel, and he struggled not to let his eyes travel down past her face.

"I need to replicate myself something to wear," she pointed out, eyeing the replicator.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you...before I came to get you, I stopped at your apartment...all your civilian clothes are here. Let me show you."

Then, as he pointed her to a small closet where her clothes were, indeed, hanging, she was reminded again by the absence of uniforms that she was no longer a Starfleet officer, and worse, had disgraced herself in front of the people who had once followed her orders.

Chakotay observed as she sank to her knees, one hand clutching the towel, the other covering her mouth, and pulled her towards him as she began to sob in earnest. "I've got you," he told her as he rubbed her back.

However, he couldn't bring himself to offer reassurances, knowing that the worst was yet to come...for she hadn't yet learned of _Voyager_ 's fate.


	27. Act V, Scene 3: Turmoil

_They were all around her, jeering and booing. Her friends circled her menacingly._

" _We trusted you, and you let us down," said B'Elanna, brandishing a Klingon knife. "Now you die…and it will not be an honorable death."_

" _How could you?" cried Paris, holding the child Miral and covering her eyes. "I can't let her see you. You're a disgrace."_

" _You are illogical and feeble," observed Tuvok coldly. "You must be eliminated."_

" _He will be mine now," boasted Seven, with Chakotay at her side, sensuously spreading kisses up her arm. When he reached her shoulder, she lifted his face and began to kiss him passionately._

" _He's my son, not yours," said Harry Kim's mother, holding her traumatized son closely. "Stay away from him; you'll spread your filth."_

" _Euthanasia!" exclaimed the Doctor. "It's the only humane alternative left. Don't worry…the pain won't last long…"_

" _I've got your last meal prepared, Captain!" said Neelix cheerfully, shoving a plate full of some sort of slime in her face. "It'll be sure to turn your stomach…I've heard you rather enjoy a good purge these days!"_

" _And you won't be seeing me in the afterlife," warned Kes, standing next to her one-time lover. "You lost your chance at that when you shamed your crew."_

" _But it wasn't me!" Kathryn cried, "I was being manipulated! Can't you see that?"_

_Chakotay looked up from Seven for a moment then, but did not break his embrace. "All I see is a lonely, crazy, disgusting old woman. I don't know what I ever saw in you."_

" _No!" she cried. "I love you all! Please forgive me. I never wanted to hurt you…"_

_And with that, she sank to the ground, curling into fetal position, sobbing, while they began to beat her._

" _You're weak!" she heard. "Unworthy mess!" "Disgusting slob!"_

Sweating and shaking, Kathryn bolted upright and hit her head on the bunk above her. Swearing, she rubbed it, feeling a bump already rising. Her stomach clenched, and she brought a hand to her mouth reflexively, feeling the burning of rising gorge, but managed to swallow it back, whimpering slightly at the effort.

Without bothering to change out of her pink silk nightgown, she climbed up to the main portion of the shuttle, and found Chakotay quietly sitting in the pilot's seat, working the controls.

Silently, she sat down beside him, curling sideways in the chair, hugging her knees.

He glanced at her then, concern etched on his brow. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

She looked up at him, but didn't answer.

He frowned then, examining her more closely. "You're bleeding," he observed, touching a finger gently to her forehead.

"It's nothing," she replied, but the way she flinched at the contact gave away her pain.

"Let me get a dermal regenerator," he said, and presently disappeared into the aft section.

Coming back with the medkit, he knelt in front of her and began to repair the wound.

"Thank you," she told him as he worked.

When he was done, he set the kit aside and took her hands in his own. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

She shook her head, and he looked slightly hurt.

"Maybe later," she conceded, not wanting to disappoint him, though she had no desire to share her private shame. "I can fly for a while," she offered as she pulled her hands back from his grasp. "You need to sleep too."

He peered at her, and she felt slightly invaded by the examination. "I have a better idea," he told her. "There's a small colony about two hours from here. I'm sure we can find an inn of some sort. Then we can both get some rest."

She neglected to mention that she had no intention of going back to sleep in any location. However, spending some time planetside did seem an appealing antidote to the cabin fever she was rapidly working up inside the small shuttle.

She nodded her assent, and he rose and took his seat, rewarding her with a smile that she did not return.

"We need to talk," she stated.

He was worried then, remembering the very first time she told him that – she'd been afraid that they were falling for each other – and they had been – and she was determined to stop it. It all seemed so frivolous now.

"About us?" he questioned fearfully.

"No. About this trip," she said. "You still haven't told me why we're here."

He'd known this was coming and had avoided it as long as possible. "I don't want to upset you," he revealed.

She rolled her eyes then. "Stop protecting me, Chakotay, and just tell me what's going on. Besides, I can't imagine anything that you could tell me that would upset me more than what has already happened."

 _I can_ , he thought. "All right," he replied, realizing he owed her the truth, or as much as he knew of it. "But keep in mind that I don't have all the facts either."

"Just…spill it," she exclaimed, exasperated.

"Fine," he said, and took a deep breath, steeling himself. " _Voyager_ 's gone," he stated simply.

She looked strangely at him. "What do you mean, gone?" she asked.

"Gone. Destroyed. It blew up in orbit of Earth while you were…at the trial." _While you were puking your guts out on the floor of the Council chamber,_ Voyager _'s guts were being splayed into Earth's atmosphere. Poetic, isn't it?_

In reaction, she exhibited the same look of shock she had worn when the duplicate _Voyager_ had self-destructed to save them from the Vidiians, and she had realized that a whole ship full of people – similar people to the ones on her ship – were dead. But then she sat back in the chair and began to laugh.

He observed her worriedly in her mirth, not knowing exactly how to deal with this reaction.

Finally, she spoke, her eyes overflowing with tears – though whether it was from the laughter, or whether she had begun to cry, he couldn't tell. "This is all some sort of elaborate ruse, isn't it? We're not really here, are we? Or better yet…this is some sort of time paradox. You can't tell me what's really going on because of the Temporal Prime Directive. I'm going to wake up in my apartment and find out that Harry was never even missing…or maybe, that we never even made it out of the Delta Quadrant…"

"Kathryn," Chakotay interrupted, having risen to stand in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

Abruptly, she stopped, looking up at him, begging him for answers.

"It's not a joke," he said quietly. "And the fact of the matter is, the only one who had the authority to order self-destruct was you."

Suddenly she understood. "And the way I acted…they already thought I was insane…they think I did it?"

He nodded. "Surely you don't believe…" she started, looking up at him pleadingly.

His face showed disapproval and insult. "Of course not," he insisted, bringing his hands down to his sides and beginning to pace. "But with the ship in a million pieces, there's no evidence to exonerate you…yet."

"Wait, you broke me out of prison to escape justice because my ship blew up and they think I did it and we're playing for time until they can turn up some evidence? Isn't running from justice a crime in itself? At this rate, I'm never going to be able to go back to Earth…" She hung her head in her hands as she spoke.

"Kathryn," he interrupted yet again, grabbing her hands and pulling them away from her face so that he could look directly into her eyes. "Someone is trying to hurt you, and they've already succeeded in more ways than one. Admiral Paris asked me to come to his office, and he told me that he couldn't protect you anymore, and that I'd best get you out of harm's way for the time being. That was all I needed to hear. He arranged everything…the guards, the shuttle. He's trusting me to keep you safe, so that when they do figure out what's going on…you're still alive to help."

She sat in shocked silence then for what seemed like an eternity.

Finally he spoke. "Say something, please," he begged, rubbing his fingers over her hands.

"Let's find that colony," she breathed.


	28. Act V, Scene 4: Beauty

The sound of Chakotay calling her name roused her out of her reverie.

"Kathryn…we're getting close," he told her, still eyeing her with more concern than she wanted to acknowledge.

She nodded, and he continued. "You probably want to change into something less comfortable," he pointed out, attempting weakly at a bit of humor.

She looked down at herself, finally realizing, with a bit of shocked embarrassment, that she'd been lounging in the shuttle cockpit with nothing on but her nightgown.

"Of course," she responded, flustered, trying to figure out how to explain herself as she rose from the chair. Eyeing him for a moment, then giving up, she disappeared into he back of the craft.

Before she'd appeared by his side and huddled into the copilot's chair, he'd heard her moaning softly…then there'd been a bang, which made him flinch, followed by a string of curses fit for a sailor, and he'd smiled slightly at the sound, knowing she would never utter those words if she knew he was listening. But he'd also surmised exactly what had happened, and was about to find a safe trajectory for autopilot and go down to visit her when she came up to see him.

It wasn't a surprise to him that she hadn't thought to dress before arriving; it only confirmed his suspicion that she was having a tough time. He hadn't reminded her of it because there were other worries, and, if he were to be truly honest, he enjoyed seeing her less than fully clothed. He'd often marveled at her beauty, which took many forms depending on her mood and garb.

When he first saw her on the bridge of _Voyager_ , she was truly majestic, a Starfleet-issue queen, complete with wisdom and tenacity. He'd felt an inexplicable urge to drop down to his knees before her, kiss her hand, and worship her. When she'd made him her first officer, he was more honored than he admitted to anyone.

On New Earth, she was the free spirit with a youthful exuberance that belied her storied past, and her eyes sparkled with a light that he hadn't seen since, and missed terribly. When they allied with the Borg against Species 8472, she was the dangerous lure – feigning innocence in order to tempt the ordinary man to walk willingly to his death. He'd attempted to resist her, and that mistake had almost been his downfall.

When they'd found the Equinox, she had darkened, her inner scars finally beginning to surface and subvert her elegance. He'd nearly panicked then, worried that if he attempted to extricate her bloom from the weeds of anger and hatred, he would only succeed in killing it forever, but that if he did nothing, she would likewise be lost. It had been a blessed miracle to watch her recover from that trial.

Finally, now, she was the tragic beauty, destined to take the fall for those who were far less deserving of grace. He watched her wither before him with each day and each passing ordeal, and yet her simple beauty – a loveliness lit from the inside by the purity of her spirit – remained, unscathed, though it was clear she was completely unaware of it.

She appeared again, in a simple tunic, and he allowed his gaze to track her understated allure as she crossed the cockpit to the chair beside him.

Finally tearing his eyes away from her, he began typing commands into the console. "I'm hailing the colony…no response."

At that, she began also to work from her station. "Scanning for life signs," she announced. Then, "I'm not picking up anything…are you sure you have the right planet?"

He looked worried. "There's no mistake," he responded. "We're going to have to land without permission. Perhaps it's just a glitch…some sort of electromagnetic storm that's interfering. It's a small colony, and they may not have many comm units."

She looked back at him and nodded, and he took the shuttle into the planet's atmosphere, landing slightly outside what he believed to be the settlement's border.

They exited and he pointed at a small hill. "It should be right on the other side," he told her, beginning to climb, looking back over his shoulder briefly to make sure she was following.

At the moment, all she could think of was how nice it felt to be on a planet, outside, with the light of a sun illuminating and warming her.

When they reached the crest, he looked down with horror.

She followed behind him, noticing his sudden cessation of movement, and spoke. "What is it?" He didn't answer, and a moment later, she too had reached the top and stood beside him, equally stunned by what she saw.

The town was in ruins, clearly having suffered a firefight that the villagers were unable to counteract. Some of the buildings were still smoldering, telling them that whatever had happened, hadn't happened very long ago. However, the most shocking thing was the sight of the bodies littering the streets. Every single one of them was covered in tendrils, surrounding their bodies like ivy on a fence.

"Oh God," Kathryn uttered when she finally found her voice. With one hand, she covered her mouth, and with the other, she reached for Chakotay, suddenly overcome with the desperate need for human contact. He grabbed her hand and squeezed, then turned to retreat down the hill.

"We've got to get out of here," he insisted urgently, but she pulled him back.

"Wait," she replied, sounding calmer than she could possibly feel. "We need to find out what happened."

"Are you nuts?" he cried, looking askance at her.

She responded with a glare he'd seen many times before, when he'd questioned her orders. Forgetting momentarily that she wasn't his captain anymore, he was effectively intimidated.

"They're gone," she told him simply. "We're not in immediate danger."

He shook his head. "I disagree…"

She turned to face him, anger blazing in her eyes. "Look, Chakotay, I'm caught in the middle of something big, and this might be a clue that will tell me what it is. I've already lost everything…my life, my job, my reputation, my friends…"

"You've still got me," he interrupted her, quietly.

She softened then, and tears filled her eyes. She reached towards him, and he pulled her to him, as much for his own comfort as hers. But they embraced for only a short moment, as she soon pulled away. "Let's get suited up," she told him, and he nodded. _Today, she may be a siren_ , he thought, _but I'll never be able to deny her_.


	29. Act V, Scene 5: Ruin

Covered from head to toe in biohazard suits, praying that they hadn't already been exposed to the toxin that was consuming a town's worth of people, the former command team descended into the destruction that was once a peaceful Federation colony.

Kathryn scanned the bodies while Chakotay examined the structures, but they maintained a comm link and Chakotay made sure she never got out of his line of sight.

Every so often, Chakotay called to her, her name falling off his lips like a lifeline tethering her to him. She responded noncommittally, clearly intoxicated by the puzzle at hand. "I'm still here," she'd say, and, with no better response in mind, he'd answer "good," or "just checking." He could almost feel her rolling her eyes every time he did it, but the silence between them when they weren't exchanging verbalizations unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Finally, he found something. "Kathryn," he called once again, and the urgency in his voice was palpable.

"What is it?" she asked, still hunched over a body, studying the tricorder readings.

"There are residual traces of Breen weapons fire as well as 8472."

"What?" she practically screamed, and although he wasn't looking at her, he could sense her jump with shock. "We're not anywhere near Breen space."

Then, "are you sure?"

"Do you want to come see for yourself?" he asked her.

"No thanks," she answered, and then fell silent again.

Checking around to make sure it wasn't just a glitch – and finding more evidence of the same – Chakotay walked back towards Kathryn, who was still hunched over the same body.

He sensed then that something was wrong – she should have moved on by now. Narrowing the distance between them until he was at her side, he looked over her shoulder. The body was of a young, Asian male, probably in his mid twenties.

"Kathryn," he called softly. When she didn't respond, he repeated himself, slightly louder, still with no reaction.

The third time, she visibly jumped. "You scared me," she choked out, still not looking up.

He gulped. "Are you crying?" he asked, knowing the answer.

She responded indirectly. "He could be Harry's brother…"

"I know," he said. Then, putting a hand on her shoulder, "we should go. You're exhausted."

"No," she answered, more forcefully, rising from the floor to face him, as his hand fell back to his side. "Not yet. There's more to this…I can feel it. So now we know their breakup wasn't as permanent as we thought…that is, if they were telling the truth about it at all. But why would they destroy a random Federation colony?"

He shrugged. "Maybe it's a warning."

She shook her head, the headpiece jerking stiltedly. "I think…they were trying to hide evidence of something…we're going to have to go inside the buildings…see if there are any logs left. Someone could have left a message."

"I already checked," he answered. "Most of the electronic devices have been destroyed. Whoever did this…they made sure to cover their tracks."

Then she saw something, out of the corner of her eye, through the plastic of the mask. "Maybe not," she responded.

Curiously, he followed her as she moved to the side of another young man, whose hand was hidden behind the flap of his shirt. Flipping the shirt out, she triumphantly pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket.

Unfolding it awkwardly – the thick gloves of the suit made it difficult – she held it out so that they could both read. Unfortunately, it was smudged from various fluids, almost certainly toxic – there was no way they could bring it back to the shuttle without risking contamination.

_To anyone who can read this,_

_They've been experimenting…trying…control…fought back…silence us. Don't let them…_

It wasn't much, but Kathryn immediately began to hypothesize, rising again to face him. "Chakotay…I think I'm not the only one that 8472 has tried to telepathically manipulate. And with the Breen knowledge…from their torture techniques…" Her voice trailed off.

"But that doesn't explain why they'd be here, of all places," he answered.

Then the answer came to both of them simultaneously. He spoke first. "There's an entry to fluidic space near here," he concluded.

She nodded. "We need to get a message to Starfleet Command."

"I'll take care of that," he said. "For now, we should get back to the shuttle. We need to get as far away from here as possible."

As they began the trek back through what was effectively a graveyard, she crossed her arms on her chest. "So much for shore leave."

After sterilizing the suits with phasers on wide-beam and a special chemical concoction replicated for the occasion, they undressed, relieved to be out of the confining outfits.

When they lifted off the planet, she was beside him, appearing unsettled and weary. He watched her as she yawned. "Why don't you get some sleep?" he offered.

"No thanks," was her only reply, even as her eyelids drooped.

By the time he was clear of the area and could once again go to autopilot, she had nodded off in her chair. He shook his head, smiling to himself at the sight.

After he composed the message to Starfleet, encrypted and routed so as to be unreadable and untraceable by anyone who picked it up along the way – a trick he had learned in the Maquis – he once again observed his sleeping companion.

Gently, he picked her up, and her head lolled against his chest, a bit of drool dribbling onto his shirt. He carried her back to the bunks and carefully set her down on the lower one. Then he removed her boots, and she still did not awaken.

It was only after he had settled himself on the upper level and almost fallen asleep that he heard her whimper. Looking over the side, his heart broke as he saw the tears on her face.

"Kathryn?" he called as he climbed down, but there was no response.

She was crying in her sleep.

Not knowing what else to do, he picked her up again, then lay back down on the bottom bunk, her body limp on top of him, her head nestled against his neck, and his arms around her, holding her in place. It wasn't exactly comfortable – the bunks were not designed for two – but, he marveled, it was surprisingly comforting. And as he drifted off, he noticed that she wasn't crying anymore.


	30. Act V, Scene 6: More Resolutions

Kathryn awoke on top of something lumpy and warm. After a moment, she identified it as a body…a very male body. And it was holding her hostage.

Her mind began to plan an escape. She squirmed, attempting to free herself of its grasp without waking it.

It moaned and tightened its grip.

"Let me go," she finally hissed. Prepared to fight, holding her knee in just the right place to be able to exact a punishing blow to a particularly sensitive area, she observed as the eyes fluttered open, revealing…

"Chakotay?!" she mumbled, still half-asleep.

Apparently her fear was evident, for his first response was, "are you okay?"

She was feeling confused, threatened, and more than slightly aroused, and the only way she knew how to deal with this was to respond with an authoritative interrogation. "Why don't you tell me?" she asked. "Starting with exactly how I ended up in this position."

"Um, would you believe me if I told you I was cold and wanted to share body heat?" Chakotay tried, still not loosening his grip.

She glared groggily at him. If he weren't in a similar state himself, he might have laughed at the incongruous sight. He sighed. "Let's just say that it seemed like a good idea at the time." He still held her tightly.

She was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. "Well, are you going to let me go?" she finally asked.

He made a show of thinking about it. "If I let you go, you might roll off and fall on the floor. I'm supposed to be protecting you so…no, I don't think I should let you go."

At that, she chuckled, and relaxed against him, realizing for the first time how good it felt to be in his arms for no particular reason. Unconsciously, she began stroking his bare chest as she reveled in the sensation of his arms around her and his well-muscled body radiating beneath her.

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist. "Kathryn," he warned, "don't start something you're not prepared to continue."

Her eyes grew wide as she realized what she was doing to him. She mumbled an apology, and again attempted to extricate herself. He maintained his grasp.

She looked into his eyes and realized that he was going to kiss her, and, upon reflection, if he did kiss her, she was going to kiss him back.

But before she could decide how to manage this new situation, there was a beeping noise, and she looked questioningly at her companion, who sighed with disappointment.

"We're entering another sector," he explained. "I need to fly again." Reluctantly, he rolled down off the bed with her still in his arms. When their feet touched the floor, he finally let her go.

As they parted, they both felt a profound loss.

They did not speak of the incident, and there was no opportunity to repeat it, for they soon reached their destination, an uninhabited M-class planet.

"We're here," Chakotay announced as he brought the shuttle in for landing.

"And where exactly might that be?" she asked, expectantly.

"You'll see," was all he said, as his eyes sparkled with excitement.

The next few days were spent building a shelter, much like the one they'd had on New Earth, though they didn't discuss the similarity aside from the decision to nickname the planet New New Earth. Instead, they each found private comfort in the reminiscence. When it was too dark for construction, they studied the data they'd collected at the colony and from _Voyager_ 's destruction, hoping to find clues. Finally, exhausted, they went to their beds and slept soundly.

But Kathryn's nightmares returned, fueled by the examination of the evidence, and on the fourth night on New New Earth, Kathryn awoke from a particularly harrowing dream with her heart racing and her head spinning. She lay back with her eyes closed, willing her biorhythms back into synch before her stomach could get the best of her, and was barely successful. She knew she would not be able to fall back to sleep.

Without thinking, she crossed the divider and crawled into Chakotay's bed. She intended only to wait until her heart stopped pounding, then leave him none the wiser, but she found herself relaxing into his warmth, and soon drifted off.

He thought he was still dreaming when he awoke with Kathryn beside him. He kissed her shoulder, and she snuggled into him, rubbing against parts of his body that were responding heartily.

By the time he realized that he was not asleep, he was quite uncomfortable but didn't want to wake her. It didn't even occur to him to wonder how she'd gotten there. He rose carefully so as not to disturb her, hoping she had no memory of the last few minutes. During the day, neither of them mentioned what had happened, and the next night, Kathryn remained in her own bed.

But the following night, Chakotay again woke with Kathryn beside him, and this time, when he looked up at her, she was staring right back at him, propped up on an elbow. After a moment, she shifted, and he realized that she was going to kiss him. And if she did, he was going to kiss her back.

Although he wanted this more than anything, doubts began racing through his mind. His protective instincts took over.

"Kathryn," he cautioned, putting his hand up to stop her approach. "If we do this, there's no going back."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she recoiled as if from a physical blow, ending up in a sitting position. "I thought…you said…"

He sat up and faced her, taking hold of her shoulders, trying to figure out how to explain what he was feeling. "I know what I said, and it's still true," he told her. "But I don't know how you feel…and frankly, I don't think you do either. You need time to process everything you've been through."

"I'm fine, Chakotay," she responded. "I'm happy here."

"That may be," he answered, though he doubted it, "but you're also stuck here, with me, until we can figure out what happened to our ship…" He paused, raising one hand to caress her cheek, "and its captain."

Several emotions played across her face – amusement, gratitude, anger, and sadness among them. His concern for her was touching but also frustrating. Finally, not knowing what else to do, she reached out and pulled him into a hug.

He barely made out the words she mumbled into his chest. "Then let's get to work."


	31. Act V, Scene 7: Passion

Three times he called her name, and three times he got no response. His heart raced as his mind began to conjure various scenarios.

_Everything she's been through has finally set in and she's suffered a nervous breakdown._

_Her brain has reverted to the state it was in when they resurrected her…she's not my Kathryn anymore._

_She was infected with the tendrils on the colony, and when she turns around, I'll see them eating her and know I've lost her forever._

He willed himself to stop theorizing and try again. This time, he put a hand on her shoulder, and still she was silent. Fearfully, he turned her towards him, seeing the tears streaming down her cheeks. Was that anger in her eyes?

He swallowed before he spoke. "What's wrong?"

His only response was a watery glare.

Finally, he saw what she was looking at on the computer screen, and he gasped. "Kathryn, I'm sorry," he apologized.

"No, you're not," she argued. She stood, suddenly, and, in an uncharacteristic display of violence, hit the table with her hands, causing him to jump as everything on the table rattled with the shock. But her anger dissipated into a quiet melancholy as fast as it had appeared, and she spoke again. "You're following orders, aren't you?"

"Yes," he confirmed, but did not explain.

The energy drained from her body and she collapsed back into her chair. "What have you told them?" she asked.

"You know I can't tell you," he responded.

"Dammit, Chakotay!" She hated using emotional blackmail, but she saw no alternative. She didn't face him as she made her accusation. "You're supposed to be my friend…not some…spy, sending reports on my sanity…or lack thereof…to some faceless Starfleet doctor who doesn't even know me!"

"I'm sorry," he repeated to her back. It seemed to be the only thing he could say. "It was the only way."

"The only way for what, Chakotay? I thought you helped me escape so we could bide our time and figure out what's going on. So we could go back with answers. Now…I don't know what to think. I should have known; we don't have the resources here to do the proper analysis."

He moved his hand towards her shoulder, but she squirmed out of the way. "Don't," she warned. "I understand now why you couldn't…we couldn't...you'd have to tell them."

"What can I do?" Chakotay pleaded. "Do you want me to build you another bathtub? I hadn't gotten around to it, but…"

She cut him off, laughing bitterly. "You think a bathtub will fix this?"

"No," he responded. "But it might make you feel better." Then something occurred to him. "Speaking of which, when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

 _The last time I slept in your arms, before you told me we couldn't be together, because I 'need time to decide how I feel'_. She didn't voice her thought.

Instead, she responded with more questions. "How long have you been 'assigned' to me, Chakotay? Since the Court Martial? Since we went on that mission? Since before we left Earth the first time?"

More tears ran down her face as she paused before continuing, sotto voce. "When you told me you were in love with me…was that just a test? To see how I'd react?"

"Spirits, Kathryn!" The angry warrior was beginning to rear its ugly head. Chakotay did not like being accused of subterfuge, even if part of it was true. So, against his better judgment, he allowed the heat of the moment to guide him. Turning her chair around to face him, he leaned down and kissed her.

He could taste the salt of her tears.

She didn't push him away.

 _I have to stop this_ , he thought. But it was intoxicating, her lips against his, and before he could think through any more consequences, he'd swept her up in his arms and was carrying her to his bed.

If she had shown the slightest hesitation, voiced the smallest objection, it would have been enough to snap him out of the guilt-induced haze of anger and passion. But she didn't.

And before he knew it, he was lying beside her, naked, with her body in his arms. Her tears had mixed with sweat and other fluids and, sated and exhausted, she'd fallen asleep.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

His tears came then, in a torrent of regret and tarnished hope, and soon after, he too was washed into the relief of unconsciousness.

When he awoke, she'd already risen. He found her in the common room, studying biomedical files.

Words died before they reached his lips. _I think we should talk about what happened last night._

She spoke first. "I've found something," she announced, sounding every bit fascinated by her discovery.

He came over to her side, peering at the screen over her shoulder.

"The microsurgery," she went on, pointing at a schematic of her brain, "it would have blocked telepathic communication."


	32. Act V, Scene 8: Counting

Chakotay's nose wrinkled as he entered the modular shelter. "What is that?" he called as he set down his gardening gloves on the table and walked into the kitchen.

He found Kathryn, oven mitts still over her hands, standing, staring down at a pan whose contents were unidentifiable.

"Kathryn?" he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She jumped slightly, then turned around to face him, tears in her eyes. "It was supposed to be a carrot soufflé," she told him. "But it fell."

He looked down at the mess and resisted the urge to laugh, his cheeks dimpling despite his best efforts. His face contorted as he attempted to find a suitable reply.

"I'm sure it tastes better than it looks," he finally said.

She gave him a questioning glance. "I know, I should have just replicated it. But I thought this would be more fun."

"Fun, yes...that's one way of putting it," he replied, again trying his best not to laugh at the sorry sight.

But as amusement invaded his face, hers fell, and to both of their dismay, a tear escaped her eye and fell down her cheek.

"Damn," she muttered as she hastily wiped it away. "And I was doing so well."

This confused him. "What do you mean?" he asked, contemplating offering some sort of physical comfort, but hesitating.

"Haven't you been keeping track, for your reports?" she asked, looking up into his eyes. She'd moved past the anger at his assignment to monitor her, and had just accepted it as part of her new reality.

"I really don't know what you're talking about, Kathryn," he stated honestly.

"It's been sixteen days since I last cried," she admitted, sniffling slightly. "And twenty-three since you last saw it."

_Twenty-three days since you cried and we made love, and what you just said is the closest we've gotten to admitting it happened._

_Why, Kathryn, are you spending your energy keeping track of this? And what else are you keeping track of?_

"It's okay," he spoke, raising a hand with the intention of caressing her face, then dropping it again, uneasy at initiating a physical intimacy they hadn't shared in about twenty-three days. "It doesn't matter."

She looked sideways at him and half-smiled, weakly. "I don't know about you, Chakotay, but I plan to go back to work at some point. I need you to see...so you can tell them...that I'm ready."

 _So I was right_ , he thought. _You're not happy here._

He frowned. "It's not what you think."

She took a deep breath, trying to control her anger. "You keep saying that, Chakotay, but how am I supposed to know what to think when you won't tell me anything?"

"I'm sorry," he said, still not touching her.

"Really, Chakotay, I understand," she said then. "I've given up on being angry. It's just...none of it makes any sense."

He stood in silence, letting her continue. She began to pace as she spoke. "They...fixed me, so they couldn't manipulate me, then when you...put me back, they took advantage of it. And I think what I did before that was my choice, but how can I be sure? Maybe they were telepathically influencing me even then. Maybe they've been influencing me since before we got back from the Delta Quadrant." Her voice trailed off, haunted with the prospect.

 _It would explain a lot_ , he thought. _The Void, the Equinox..._

What's more, she was getting dangerously close to figuring out what he was trying to figure out himself and report back to Starfleet. And if she found out, and if they were still in communication with her, they'd know what she knew. _Damn_.

"I suggest you not think about it," he urged, and, as if on cue, his stomach rumbled, and hers joined it. That made them both smile. "I think perhaps we should replicate something to eat."

She pressed a gloved hand to his chest, and, even through the layers of fabric, he felt electricity surge through the touch, and his lips parted slightly as he involuntarily sucked in a breath. "What can I get for you, Mister Chakotay?" she asked, playfully.

He shivered with the recollection of all the times she'd been so formal with him. One particular moment came to mind.

_"Mister Chakotay, the helm...set a course, for home."_

He'd been with Seven then, and still hadn't had a chance to tell her, though somehow, he'd suspected she knew.

"I'll have whatever you're having," he told her.

She eyed him curiously. "I was thinking of a nice big steak."

"Uh, okay, maybe not..."

"Relax, Chakotay," she interjected as he stammered. "How about a carrot stew?"

"That sounds good," he said, though something nagged at him. _Carrot soufflé, carrot stew..._ "is there something special about carrots today?"

"No, not particularly," she said, belatedly realizing what he'd already observed. "I just...want carrots today. No idea why."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more about it. They replicated the meal, and he was gratified to watch her eat; she was practically inhaling her food these days, and was finally gaining back some of the weight she'd lost. There was color in her cheeks for the first time in as long as he could remember. He only wished that her improved physical health hadn't had to coincide with emotional distancing.

She'd been completely ensconced in her research over the last few weeks, ever since she discovered that the microsurgery had blocked telepathic communication. That discovery had rattled him; it was eerily consistent with what Tuvok had told him before he'd collected her and escaped Earth.

_"I believe, Sir, that the reason I did not detect her death may have been due to telepathic interference. The bond...changed when she was resurrected. I cannot describe it further, and I have no other logical explanation. We will investigate here, and you must not share this information with her; if she is in telepathic communication with Species 8472, it is imperative that they do not find out what we already know."_

He didn't blame her for her withdrawal after she found out that he was keeping secrets from her, but it still saddened him. A few times he'd woken in the middle of the night, thinking he felt her presence, only to discover that he was hugging a mass of bundled sheets. Once, he'd been pretty sure that what had woken him was a cry of distress, but his guilt over taking advantage of her before had prevented him from following his urge to go to her and make sure she was all right. If she wanted his comfort, she would come to him. He wouldn't make that decision for her again.

A week after the soufflé incident, he was starting to really worry. He'd urged her to go out; the weather was beautiful and he thought perhaps they could take a hike over the hills, but she'd pleaded exhaustion and continued with her investigation. It wouldn't have raised his suspicions - she was never one to take a break while pursuing a mystery - except that she really did look worn-out, and had begun to go to bed early, which he'd never seen her do before. She'd also stopped drinking coffee, at least when he was around. But he wasn't brave enough to confront her about his concerns; he'd done too much damage already.

He awoke to a disturbing sound coming from the bathroom. Light was just beginning to peek through the windows of the shelter, and he shook himself to wake up. When he realized what he was hearing, he shivered, then threw on a robe and ran into the washroom, expecting the worst.

He found her, hunched over the toilet, her arms wrapped around her stomach. He knelt at her side, took hold of her shoulders, and began to massage them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He cursed under his breath, even as he turned her to face him. But before he could ask her what she meant by that, she set him slightly at ease. "I guess last night's dinner didn't quite agree with me."

"You're just...sick?" he questioned apprehensively.

"It would appear so," she muttered, cringing. Then she looked up at him. "Forty-five days," she said.

He blinked. "What?" Then, suddenly, he understood. She was keeping track of that too.

And then something else occurred to him, another thing she might be keeping track of. "Kathryn," he started warily, "when was your last period?"

Her eyes went wide and began to fill with tears as she realized what he was thinking. "Don't even," she warned. "I can't..."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"About two years ago, that's when, Chakotay!" she blurted out, before collapsing against him, sobbing.

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back. "You're perimenopausal?"

"Post-menopausal is more like it, Chakotay. I always thought I had time...and then suddenly it was gone..."

She pulled back and looked at him. "When Q...offered to mate with me...I told him I wanted to have a child someday, just not with him. And when Tom and I...well, I admitted it to him too. But now I'll never have children." She wiped at her face with her forearm, trying to stop her tears.

"Perimenopausal depression," he mumbled, and it was her turn to ask, "what?"

"I think you've been suffering from perimenopausal depression," he told her. "And that would mean that it's not because of 8472."

She stared at him then. "You thought..." She didn't continue, as the pieces finally began to come together in her mind. But as she was thinking, another wave of nausea hit her, and she scrambled back to the toilet just in time.

When she was done, he wet a cloth and began wiping her face with it as she leaned back against the wall. "I'm going to get the medkit," he announced after a moment, then disappeared into the other room.

When he reappeared, he scanned her, and as he observed the readings, his jaw dropped and his eyebrows jumped.

"What is it, Chakotay?" Kathryn asked, anticipating bad news.

"Kathryn, you're not going to believe this..." he stated, and, instead of voicing his discovery, just handed her the tricorder so she could see for herself.

"Oh my god," she breathed. The tricorder dropped to the floor and her hands flew to her face as she began to cry again.

He took her back into his arms as his own tears began to fall in shock and joy.


	33. Act V, Scene 9: Procreation

Chakotay found Kathryn sitting near the garden, leaning against a tree, lost in reverie. The wind rustled the leaves and sunlight poked through the branches to speckle Kathryn with dots of light.

"Penny for your thoughts," he remarked as he approached her. She motioned for him to sit next to her, and he obeyed, gently using her shoulder as leverage as he lowered himself to the ground beside her.

"It's beautiful here," she noted. "I'm going to miss it."

He smiled. "We don't have to leave."

She turned to look at him, the side of her mouth turning up slightly in amusement. "We both know we can't stay, Chakotay. I can't hide forever. And my child..." She put a hand on her still-flat stomach, "is going to need medical care, and school, and all sorts of other things we can't get here."

He frowned, and she looked curiously up at him. "What is it?" she asked.

"You said your child, Kathryn. Isn't it our child?"

She chuckled slightly, sadly. "Chakotay, it's my responsibility. I can't ask you to make that sort of commitment."

"Kathryn," he addressed her, moving to sit in front of her, and taking her hands in his. "I once made the commitment to protect an entire crew with you...our crew. We're only talking about one child now, and this baby's as much my responsibility as yours. I wouldn't have it any other way."

She pulled away a hand to wipe a tear from her eye. "It was just one night, Chakotay...there was no way for you to know...and I could have terminated it. I still could, but I won't, because I want this child. But there's no reason for me to burden you as well."

He looked into her eyes, and realized he was going to have to do more to convince her. "It wasn't just one night, Kathryn, and I think you know that. I'd like to think it was the first of many nights."

Her eyes searched his. "What are you saying, Chakotay?"

He took a deep breath, lifted himself to kneel on one knee, and gently flattened her hand into his palm. "Kathryn Janeway, will you marry me?"

To his dismay, she shook her head. "This is the twenty-fourth century, Chakotay...you don't need to make an honest woman of me. Our child will be fine, born in or out of wedlock."

"There," he nearly interrupted. "You just said it...our child."

She smiled slightly. "I guess I did...your sperm, my egg...I guess that sort of makes it ours."

He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. "More than sort of. Now, let me ask you again...Kathryn Janeway, please...be my wife."

Tears once again filled her eyes and quickly began to overflow. She nodded as she spoke, "all right." Then she pulled him towards her and hugged him tightly.

Overjoyed with the response, he squeezed back, but her body was unprepared for it, and before she could pull away, she'd thrown up all over his shoulder.

Embarrassed, she froze in his arms, but he didn't loosen his grip, instead opting to soothingly rub her back. "I guess I'd better get used to that," he joked.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, mortified, still holding onto him as if her life depended on it.

"It's okay," he soothed. "Don't worry about it. You've just made me the happiest man in the entire Federation; don't think a little bit of vomit could ruin my mood."

Then, after patting her back, he finally pulled away. "Let's go inside and get cleaned up." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," she told him, honestly. "I'm looking forward to the second trimester."

He smiled at her and rose from the ground, then offered her a hand and pulled her up.

As they were walking, hand in hand, he noticed her face contorting slightly and decided to distract her from her rebellious stomach. "What were you thinking about when I interrupted you?" he asked.

She looked up at him. "I was thinking about Kes."

"Oh," he responded. "Anything in particular?"

"Finding out that I'm pregnant made me think about offspring and procreation. I don't know why it never occurred to me before...but I think the Ocampa are dying out, quickly."

Chakotay looked askance at her. "How do you figure that?"

She stopped walking. "It's a simple branching process. They only go through the Elogium once, and only females go through it. They generally have just one child at that time. Kes didn't have one, and others might choose not to procreate. But even if all the females have one baby, and all the babies survive to the age of reproduction, some of those babies will be male and won't have their own. So the population is destined to decrease every generation, and rapidly, the species will become extinct. Honestly, I have no idea how they survived 500 generations under the Caretaker."

He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe they usually have multiple births. Or did, until recently."

Kathryn nodded. "Perhaps. I guess I'm just worried about them. Worried that I stranded our crew in the Delta Quadrant for seven years to save a species that was about to become extinct anyway."

He took hold of her shoulders then, and regarded her seriously. "Are you ever going to forgive yourself?"

She pursed her lips, her face twitching with the effort of controlling her tears. "How can I?" she asked.

"Because of all the good that came out of it," Chakotay responded without hesitation. "Tom Paris would probably still be in prison. Seven would still be a drone. I'd likely be dead, along with the rest of my crew. We'd never have gotten to explore the Delta Quadrant and learn so much about the species there. We'd never have dealt the crippling blow to the Borg. And most of all, I would never have gotten to know you."

She smiled slightly. "That's sweet. But if I hadn't mucked around in the Delta Quadrant for seven years, we wouldn't be on the brink of a war with Species 8472, and you wouldn't have puke all over your back."

"I'll take the puke any day, Kathryn, if it means I get to be with you for the rest of my life. As for Species 8472, as far as I can tell, at least some of them are on our side. Now let's get inside. It looks like it's going to rain, and while that's one way of washing me off, I'd prefer the sonic shower."

She nodded, and, hand in hand once more, they entered the shelter. No sooner had they stepped across the doorway than a thunderclap pierced the air, and, almost instantaneously, the sky opened up and began dumping water onto the ground.

Kathryn stared at Chakotay, astonished. "How did you know that was going to happen?"

He looked down at her affectionately, but answered soberly. "That - was luck, and a bit of intuition. But I know a lot of things, Kathryn, which I can't tell you just yet. I need you to trust me." He bit his lip. "There may even be a way to check up on the Ocampa, and, if your suspicions are correct, help them to escape extinction."

"Without violating the Temporal Prime Directive?" she asked, astonished.

"Yes," he responded. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really ought to get cleaned up."

"Of course," she whispered, nodding, as he disappeared into the bathroom.


	34. Act V, Scene 10: Showdown

_Kathryn was on the floor of the Federation Council Chamber, in a tutu, dancing the Dying Swan, but each time she leapt, the strings attached to her limbs yanked her off her feet, so that she landed painfully, gracelessly._

_The crowd laughed, but the strings kept her moving. She couldn't stop._

_Tears of embarrassment and pain streaked down her face, and still she jerked and twisted, a parody of the grace that had once been her pride. Familiar faces pointed at her, jeering._

_Finally, mercifully, she collapsed onto the ground in a heap, her face on the floor. Perversely, she felt the desire to look up towards the controller of the strings, wondering why it had stopped._

_On the catwalk above her was the tattooed face of the man who had once been her First Officer. The noise of the crowd decrescendoed until she could hear only his voice._

_"Now you know," he stated quietly, then yanked on the cords, forcing her to rise from the ground._

_She cried out, but the crowd once more increased its volume, drowning out her screams, while the cables moved her faster and faster until she knew she wouldn't be able to keep up. Her limbs convulsed and her stomach clenched._

Kathryn awoke sweating and sick. She scrambled for the bathroom, falling out of the bed and onto the floor, where she lost control, then collapsed.

 _Breathe, Kathryn_ , she told herself, and willed herself to calm down. It was of little use.

The evidence was clear. She needed to get off this planet, and away from him. She ran, barefoot, towards the shuttlecraft, pausing only once to retch onto the ground.

She began the launch sequence, but something was preventing her from success. She was locked out.

While she was fighting with the controls, trying to override the security, she heard the door opening, and jumped towards the weapons locker, pulling out a phaser, which she then aimed at the doorway.

Chakotay was about to charge her, but as he saw the phaser trained on him, he raised his hands and began approaching her slowly.

"I don't know who you are," she asserted. "Don't come any closer."

He paused, hands still raised in the air. "It's just me, Chakotay. Kathryn, please put the phaser down."

She shook her head. "You're not Chakotay. You're one of them."

"One of whom, Kathryn? Please, it's just me." He was trying to remain calm, but his heart was pounding, and he didn't doubt that if he startled her, she would shoot. He also didn't trust the phaser to be on stun.

"Don't lie to me. You're an 8472. I felt you telepathically." The phaser remained trained upon him.

"No, Kathryn, I'm..."

She interrupted him. "Is the child I'm carrying even human, Chak...whoever you are?"

"Kathryn, if you put the phaser down, I will explain. Please," he begged, taking a cautious step towards her.

"No," she whispered. "I don't trust you." But he could tell her resolve was wavering.

"Kathryn," he said, slowly approaching, "I love you, and I'm human. I promise I won't hurt you. Please, trust me."

She shook her head and waved the phaser slightly, but didn't shoot. "You've been lying to me."

He stopped. "Yes, and for that I'm sorry. But it's not what you think."

At that, she laughed slightly. "Where have I heard that before?"

He swallowed, trying to figure out his next move. At the moment, it was a stalemate, and he knew it couldn't last. Finally, he spoke, hoping that his voice would reawaken her trust. "Look, just follow me back to the house, and I'll prove it to you. You can take my blood."

He was gratified as her gaze softened slightly. She took a deep breath before answering. "All right, but if you try anything..."

"I understand," he told her, then turned around, trusting her to follow him as his hands fell back to his sides. She stayed about a meter behind him, phaser still pointing at his back, and the solemn, silent walk seemed to last forever.

Back inside the shelter, she rummaged through the medkit while still keeping the weapon trained on her companion. After finding the appropriate tool, she used one hand to draw his blood while clasping the phaser in the other, then set the vial down on the table, picking up the tricorder and scanning it. He watched her movements carefully, but stayed still, not wanting to alarm her.

The tricorder clearly read that it was human blood. The telltale factors that would indicate genetic alteration were absent. Still uneasy, Kathryn prepared a hypospray and pressed it to his neck. He grimaced, but did nothing to stop her, knowing that the concoction would have no effect on him.

Finally convinced, feeling relieved and embarrassed, Kathryn fell to her knees, the phaser and tricorder dropping onto the floor. Now Chakotay swept towards her, enveloping her in his arms as she began to sob.

"It's okay," he soothed. "You're safe. It's just me." Over and over he whispered these things, realizing how terribly frightened she must be, and feeling intensely guilty about her ordeal. It had been an accident, one that had very nearly gotten him killed. He would have to be much more careful, and, despite his instructions, he resolved to tell her some of what he knew. He wouldn't be any good to her...or to the Federation...if she killed him, which he had no doubt she would have done, had he indicated that he posed a threat.

Finally, she calmed, and he pulled away from her, looking into her eyes. He touched her cheek, wiping away tears with his thumb. "I owe you an explanation," he admitted.

Her wide eyes looked up at him, silently ordering him to continue. He stood and offered her his hand, which she took, then led her to a chair and sat beside her.

He sighed. "Kathryn, do you remember, during our first few months in the Delta Quadrant, there was a planet that Kes wanted to see on the viewscreen?"

She nodded. "Kes told Tuvok about her experience years ago, and Tuvok told me before we left Earth after the Court Martial. It seems there was a time loop outside of our reality, in which you nearly died in a planetary disaster on that world, and while we tried to get you back, Kes reached out with her mind to find you...and you answered."

She looked blankly at him, and he sighed again. "There must be other instances you remember, when Kes contacted you telepathically."

Slowly, Kathryn nodded. "There were a few, but I thought she could send to anyone."

"No," Chakotay answered. "Not anyone. Only certain people...like Neelix. And you."

Her eyes danced with confusion. "I don't understand...I'm human. I have no telepathic abilities," she reasoned.

He gulped. "Kathryn, the human race is evolving. There are some scientists who believe that within two centuries, we will be as telepathically able as the Vulcans. You, believe it or not, have some talent in that area, which Kes knew about, but didn't tell anyone aside from Tuvok, who she swore to secrecy. Kes was in communication with 8472 when she died. She was trying to convince them that we weren't a threat, but she also inadvertently told them about you."

"I still don't understand," she stated. "Why block my receptors? And then manipulate me? And what about that planet?"

He held up his hand to halt her questions. "One thing at a time, Kathryn. And I'm really not supposed to be telling you any of this."

She glared at him, daring him to stop now, but he'd already committed to confessing.

"Okay," he started. "8472 is in the midst of a civil war. Some of them still believe that our galaxy should be purged, while others want to befriend us. They all think we're a threat to them, given that we developed the only weapon that's significantly hurt them, and given that we've practically destroyed the Borg. And specifically, they think you're a threat. But you impressed them with your sacrifice."

"Which is why they tried to help me? Because the other side was trying to figure out how to telepathically manipulate me?"

He cringed. "And succeeding, Kathryn. You did blow up _Voyager_."


	35. Act V, Scene 11: Shattered Again

_You did blow up_ Voyager, he'd said.

 _I blew up_ Voyager. She mulled the words in her mind, contemplating the sound of speaking them out loud. It felt wrong, even in her imagination, but the thought continued to play in her mind, mocking her.

 _I destroyed my ship._ It made no sense. Why would she do such a thing? And yet, a darkness inside of her, threatening to bubble out, fed by years of guilt and sadness, told her that it was true. She fought it.

After what seemed like an eternity of shocked silence, Kathryn spoke aloud, and her voice was firm, belying her inner turmoil. "That's not possible. I was on the ground."

Chakotay peered pitifully at her, and his glance fueled the fire of rage that was kindling in her soul. "Self-destruct can be initiated up to twenty-four hours in advance," he stated coldly. "And the logs show that you were on the ship four hours before the trial."

She rose from the chair then, beginning to pace. "I was...what? I'm sure you must be mistaken." She turned to face him, defiantly, daring him to continue opposing her.

"The transporter logs, Kathryn. Even if you don't remember, there's proof."

Tears stung at her eyes and she willed them to retreat. "Before we got to this planet, you told me you didn't believe I had anything to do with it. And now you've changed your mind? Don't you think it's more likely the evidence has been tampered with since then?"

He was silent, not knowing what to say.

She spoke again. "I'm going to take a walk," she informed him.

He nodded solemnly, rising from his chair. "Let me get dressed into something suitable. You should too."

She glanced down at her nightclothes, wondering whether she should be embarrassed, but not feeling particularly so. Perhaps the anger was overwhelming everything else. "I'll change in a moment," she conceded. "But I'm going alone."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she stared him down.

When she exited her room, clad appropriately for a hike, he handed her a pack. "Here," he said, "there's some food and water in there, in case the baby's hungry." The small attempt at humor fell flat, and she barely nodded acknowledgement. As she turned to leave, he called quietly to her. "Be careful."

She exited out the door quickly, and he didn't know whether she'd heard his plea. He wanted to honor her wish to be alone; he hadn't been giving her much time to herself, and it seemed to be what she needed at the moment, but a nagging feeling in his gut foretold disastrous consequences should he allow her to wander out of his sight. He told himself he was being overprotective, but the butterflies in his stomach ignored him, continuing to flap their warning furiously.

Several hours later, when she hadn't returned, he resolved to follow her. He thanked the spirits for his father's tutelage and began to trace her trail.

After nearly three hours, he found her pack, leaning against a tree, but she was nowhere in sight. He held his breath, listening for any possible clue, but the only sounds were the twittering of birds and insects and the rustling of the wind in the foliage. Searching around, he saw no evidence that she had left this spot, so, with no other directions left to look, he threw his gaze upward.

A limb hung down in between thick branches, and for one heart-stopping moment, he thought perhaps she'd been taken by a predator and killed, her body left in the tree for later consumption. But why then, would her pack be so carefully placed? There was no evidence of struggle, so the logical, and he hoped, correct alternative was that she had voluntarily climbed the tree. But she was nearly four meters up. Chakotay closed his eyes for a moment, contemplating his dilemma, then opted to climb up after her.

He was about halfway up when he heard her scream, then watched powerlessly as she fell from her perch. Panic, like the hand of an evil spirit, reached inside of him and squeezed his heart until he thought it might explode. It pounded nearly triple-time as she seemed to descend in slow motion, finally reaching the ground, rolling a few meters, then stopping, motionless.

After a moment of stunned paralysis, he jumped down, his hands brushing the ground as his knees bent to absorb the shock of the landing. He ran to her and knelt beside her, then reached out with his hand and stroked her cheek as he called her name.

At first, she did not respond, and he was about to pull out his tricorder when finally she stirred, her eyes fluttering open, revealing the fear within.

He moved his other hand to her shoulder, applying gentle pressure to prevent her from attempting to escape. "Don't move," he commanded, "you might be hurt."

She blinked. "I think...I'm okay," she told him. Then a wave of panic engulfed her, and her face contorted. "But...oh god...the baby..." Her hand went to her stomach.

"Sssh," he soothed, even as his own dread sat heavily on his shoulders like a winter cloak in summertime. "I've got a tricorder. Just hold on a second." At that, he flipped it out and began scanning her.

Relief was a blessing as he found that, despite the distance of her fall, she had no broken bones. "You're going to be fine," he reassured her, and her eyes closed as she processed the welcome news. He bent down and kissed her forehead, then gently helped her into a sitting position.

She groaned slightly, and he frowned. "Does it hurt?"

"I'm just winded, I think," she answered. "I'll probably be sore tomorrow." Then, as her senses began to return to her, she remembered the events of the last few hours.

As soon as she'd left the shelter, hot, angry tears welled in her eyes and began to spill over her cheeks. She ignored them, focusing on the walk, on getting as far away as possible from all connections to civilization, especially him. She needed to be alone with her thoughts if she were to going to prove her innocence. But her mind was in shambles, rattled from hormones, nightmares, and the horrors of her reality, and she found it difficult to think.

She did not know how long she'd been walking when, like an angel sent from heaven to guide her, she saw a most astonishing sight, and wondered, for a moment, whether she was hallucinating.

It was her tree. The one she had climbed an hour before the lightning shattered it. She wondered briefly if Chakotay would believe the spirit of her tree had returned to visit her.

 _No_ , she told herself. _It's not my tree; it's just similarly shaped, a mere coincidence._

The logic was sound, but still the plant beckoned to her, and she knew at once that she would feel safe nestled in its woody arms. So, with the grace and ease of the six-year-old child she had once been, what seemed like several lifetimes ago, she ascended until she found a space between branches sturdy and large enough to hold her. As she relaxed into the nook, the tree cradled her like her father's strong arms when she was a little girl, and a strange sense of peace overwhelmed her and pulled her into a fitful sleep.

Her dream was of _Voyager_ , empty save the ghosts of dead crewmen, good young men and women who had died under her command. She turned around as they encircled her.

_"Let us rest now, Captain," said Joe Carey, handing her a now complete ship in a bottle, which dissolved into a cloud of smoke as soon as she touched it._

_"Tell Harry that I will always love him," pleaded Lyndsay Ballard. "But like my human existence, this ship must also be transformed."_

_"This was my post," said Cavit. "You let him take my place too long. Let me have the ship now; only then can these good people go home."_

_A young Ocampan girl appeared in their midst. "It's all right, Captain," soothed Kes. "It's time to let go."_

_Kathryn nodded, understanding. The ship seemed to speak to her directly then. "I will take care of them."_

Then she was awake, being shaken by the tree. She'd shifted in her sleep, and now the movement of her support undermined her precarious balance. Suddenly realizing that she was not alone, she panicked, losing her hold and falling to the ground below. The next thing she knew, she was looking up into Chakotay's eyes.

Now his arm was around her, and she couldn't help but compare it to the branches that had embraced her only a few minutes ago. The tree had been much more comforting, perhaps because of its lack of ulterior motive.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, finally realizing that he had invaded her privacy yet again.

He swallowed. "You'd been gone several hours. I started to get worried." He paused before questioning her. "Do you think you can walk? We should head back. It'll be dark soon."

She nodded, and he shifted, offering her a hand to rise. But as she stood beside him, she faltered, collapsing against him. He supported her as she sat back on the ground. "Give me a moment," she ordered, now angry with herself for her weakness. He knelt in front of her, his face betraying his worry.

She waited for the dizziness to pass, only to be replaced by the sudden assault of a painful cramp. She moaned, hugging her stomach.

"What's wrong?" he queried, his hand gently squeezing her upper arm.

She shook her head. "I don't know..."

Pulling his own pack from his shoulders, he grabbed a water bottle and handed it to her. "Drink," he ordered, and she sipped obediently.

After a few moments, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then returned the bottle.

"Better?" he asked as he capped it and replaced it in his pack.

"Maybe," she said noncommittally.

He reached out to stroke her hair. "Are you hungry?"

She squirmed in discomfort then, the prospect of food utterly unappealing, despite the knowledge that she hadn't eaten since last night, and much of her dinner hadn't made it past her stomach.

"Let's just go," she urged, not wanting to dwell on her physical and mental discomfort, nor encourage his overprotective behavior. "I'll be okay."

Uncertainly, he nodded, then again helped her to rise, this time making sure to support her completely. Shakily, she stood, attempting weakly to push him away, but he didn't allow it. He hovered about her as they returned to the base of the tree, where he allowed her to lean against the trunk while he grabbed her pack, attaching it to his own.

Then they set off, and he kept his arm around her as much as possible, afraid that at any moment she might collapse. Frequently, he stopped her to allow her to drink, and twice more offered her food, though each time she refused, adding to his concern.

About halfway into their journey, she stopped suddenly, frozen in her tracks. He turned her around to face him, grabbing onto her shoulders. "What is it?" he asked.

She looked down shamefully at the ground, not wanting to meet his eyes. She felt the warm, wet liquid that had been the cause of her alarm trickle down the inside of her thigh. Color rose in her cheeks, and tears sprung to her eyes.

"Let me go," she stated quietly, not wanting to admit to him what she'd felt.

"No," he refused. "Something's wrong, and you're going to tell me what it is." His finger lifted her chin so that she was forced to look up at him, and, shamefully, she burst into tears.

"Leave me alone," she cried out, attempting to escape, but he held her firmly.

"Whatever it is," he told her. "It's all right. Please, just tell me what's going on."

"I'm an infirm old lady and you should let me die," she blurted out, tears streaming down her face.

He gulped. "Are you in pain?"

She couldn't stand his caring tone, and decided that the best way to get rid of him would be to admit her shame. He'd be disgusted and would leave her to her private hell. "I seem to have...wet myself," she stated, hiding her face in her hands immediately after her confession.

He cursed, pushing her down to the ground. Her pants were indeed soaked, but only about halfway down. He touched a finger to her leg, and she flinched away as if his touch had been painful. Looking down, he saw a red smear on his finger. There was no time to lose.

Carefully, he picked her up into his arms, momentarily startling her. "What are you doing?" she accused.

"I'm taking you back home," he replied. "Just hang on."


	36. Act V, Scene 12: Attack

"I'm not an invalid," Kathryn insisted to the man who was holding her as he trudged forward. "I can walk."

"I know you can," he answered, "but I don't think it's a good idea right now." He debated whether or not to elaborate, but decided against it, not wanting her to panic, which would surely seal the fate of their unborn child. It was all he could do to control his voice so as not to betray his own fear. He worried that even what he'd already said was too much, and she would figure out what was going on.

To his relief, she didn't. "I knew it," she sighed. "You're disgusted with me. I'm a disgrace."

He bent down and kissed her forehead then before continuing to forge his way through the makeshift path. "Kathryn," he addressed her, just loudly enough to be heard over the ambient natural noises and the sounds of his footfalls, "you will never be a disgrace. I'm just worried about you. It's my job to put your needs first, remember? It just seems that lately I haven't been able to meet them, no matter how hard I try. No matter what I attempt to ease your burdens, you seem worse off than you were before."

To his dismay, tears began to form in his eyes, and he tried his best to swallow his pain, knowing that giving away too much of his own emotions would clue her in to the dangerous reality of their situation. It was too late, however; she'd seen his distress, but her reaction was not what he expected.

A look of deep sympathy crossed her features, and she threw her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his chest. "Oh Chakotay," she sighed, "please don't feel guilty. Without you, I'd be dead several times over by now." She shivered at the thought, and he tightened his hold on her.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

She smiled slightly. "You're keeping me quite warm, thank you."

They were quiet then for some time, and she marveled at how strong he was, able to carry two packs and her own body while hiking over rough terrain. She vowed to give him a massage later, knowing he would be sore from the trek. For the moment, she snuggled into his chest, trying to forget her horror and focus only on the soothing feel of his arms around her. Perhaps his embrace could be as comforting as the tree's...maybe even more so. Unlike the tree's, his limbs were warm and soft.

They were nearing the end of their journey when she put a hand on his chest and ordered him to stop. The urgency in her voice startled him, but he continued walking as he spoke to her. "Are you sick?" he queried. "I really don't think we should stop; we need to get you back, and if I put you down now, I don't know if I can pick you up again." _If you throw up on me, it won't be the first time, but if I stop and you lose the baby.._.

It was the first time he had admitted that the journey was tiring him, and she felt her heart swelling with gratitude and sympathy. "No," she responded, "I'm not sick...please, just stop. Now."

Something about her tone demanded obeisance, and he paused. They were silent for a moment.

"There," she whispered. "Did you hear that?"

He felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face, but he had no idea to what she was referring. "Hear what?" he responded.

"Voices," she stated. "I think we have visitors."

He sank to the ground then, with her body falling into his lap. "Could you be imagining it?" he asked. "You've been through so much..."

"No," she stated furiously. "Just listen."

He sighed, but obeyed. Sure enough, the faint murmur of humanoid voices could be heard, and he gripped her tightly, frozen in terror. "I hear them," he admitted.

They sat, as motionless as possible, for a long time as the voices grew closer. He wished he'd brought a phaser, but there was no reason to arm onesself on an uninhabited planet.

Finally, he could just make out a silhouette through the underbrush, and he peered closely, praying that the creature was a friend. But as it drew closer, his worst fears were confirmed.

"They're Breen," he told Kathryn.

"I can see that," she replied, as quietly as possible. "We may need to fight."

He shook his head. "I didn't pack any phasers," he admitted. "We have to hope they don't find us."

Even as he spoke, he watched the soldier stop moving and turn towards their position. The Breen had evidently heard them whispering, and was coming towards them now.

The humans held their breath, hoping against all hope that the Breen soldier would find nothing of consequence and move to a new search area. However, the menacing humanoid continued to approach.

Suddenly, Kathryn lunged forward out of Chakotay's arms, ambushing the soldier and knocking him to the ground. Quickly, she grabbed his weapon and aimed it at him, but did not fire.

However, there was another soldier nearby, who had witnessed the scuffle and was now running towards them. Chakotay saw it and leapt forward, knocking Kathryn to the ground just in time to prevent her from being hit with the discharge of the second soldier's weapon. Unfortunately, he didn't manage to avoid the blast himself, and slumped to the ground, senseless.

"Chakotay, no!" Kathryn cried, throwing herself on top of his body and pointing her weapon towards the soldier who had shot him. She was about to fire when the whine of a transporter...a Federation transporter...engulfed them.


	37. Act V, Scene 13: Transfiguration

As Kathryn materialized, she saw the form of a Starfleet-uniformed man with his hands in the air. "Hey, don't shoot," she heard, and the voice was lighthearted and familiar.

Tom Paris.

At once she knew she was safe, and at that moment, she felt herself collapse, losing consciousness in a heap on top of her former first officer.

Tom raced towards her and lifted her up off the floor, noticing immediately the bloodstain on her pants. "Doctor," he called, "we have an emergency here. She's bleeding."

When Kathryn came to, she was on a cot, and the holographic doctor was looming over her. She blinked, gathering in her surroundings.

"At last, my favorite patient is awake," the Doctor stated, and Kathryn couldn't tell whether he was happy about it, annoyed, or joking. Cautiously, she sat up, stilling an ancient reflex to immediately order a report.

The Doctor handed her a glass. "Drink this," he ordered. She gulped. The liquid was slightly sweet, and she imagined it was loaded with essential nutrients, of which she was undoubtedly not getting enough. She found herself slightly annoyed at the coddling, but it did feel good to drink, and she marveled at the fact that, for the first time in weeks, she wasn't remotely nauseous. This revelation led to the fear that perhaps the Doctor had given her some medication that might be a risk to the baby. _Oh god, the baby_. The Doctor would have scanned her and figured out she was pregnant, and wouldn't give her anything harmful to her unborn child…right?

Filled with fear that she wouldn't get an answer she liked, she resorted to asking about something else first. "Chakotay," she stated, "is he…?"

The Doctor placed a hand on her shoulder. "He's fine," he reassured her. "The weapon that hit him was only on stun. My guess is the Breen wanted you two alive. He's resting now, but I'll go wake him. He asked me to get him as soon as you woke up."

Kathryn reached out and grabbed his uniform, stopping his retreat. "Wait…Doctor…what about the baby?"

The hologram pursed his photonic lips, obviously unsure as to what to tell her, and his hesitation fed her anxiety. As he saw her tense, he tried to prevent her panic. "Don't worry," he ordered, "the baby is well, but I'd like to put off further discussion on the matter until the father is present."

Kathryn nodded, only slightly calmed by the Doctor's words.

The Doctor returned a few moments later with Chakotay at his side. The tattooed human immediately rushed to her side and took her hand in his, and with his other hand, he brushed the hair out of her face.

"Kathryn," he cooed, "how do you feel?"

Something about his particularly caring tone brought back her worry full-force, and she neglected to answer his question, instead cutting straight to the heart of her fears. "Something's wrong with our baby, isn't it?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

He held her shoulders and peered into her eyes. "Please, calm down. How do you feel?" he asked her again.

She was annoyed now, and frustrated that nobody would tell her anything of consequence. "Just tell me what's going on. Now." The tone was distinctly an order, despite the fact that she hadn't had the authority to give orders in months.

He sighed, still holding onto her. "Listen to me, Kathryn, the baby is alive."

"The Doctor told me that much," she responded. "But there's something else you're not telling me."

He gulped. "The baby was in distress," he admitted. "You were bleeding…"

Her hands went to her mouth. "Oh god," she whispered.

"You were going to lose it, there was nothing the Doctor could do about it. We think it was because of the trauma of falling from the tree."

Now tears coursed down her face but she managed to choke out a few words. "Go on," she begged, "I need to know."

He nodded, and offered her his hand. "I think it's better if I show you."

She looked askance at him, but, after a moment, took the offered limb.

"Do you think this is wise?" interjected the Doctor. "She's still quite weak."

Chakotay defended her. "She has a right to know, Doctor."

Hesitantly, the Doctor nodded. "Very well." Then he began to explain, as they led her into the next room. Kathryn barely paid attention to his ramblings, focusing on preparing herself for whatever it was they were going to show her. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like it.

She vaguely heard the Doctor's voice. "It was Seven's solution, actually…quite ingenious I think…could have future implementations…we'll write a paper on it, I think, Seven and I…"

As they entered the room, she felt Chakotay squeeze her hand, and she squeezed back, torn between her desire to race forward and satisfy her curiosity and her instinct to run and hide from something so fearful it was obviously going to cause her considerable distress.

In the center of the room was the unmistakable shape of a Borg maturation chamber.

 _Oh god,_ she thought. _My child…assimilated before it should have even been born…_

She felt the room spin around her, and her hand slipped out of Chakotay's as she instinctively wrapped her arms around her torso. Before she lost consciousness again, she was vaguely aware of the taste of the Doctor's vitamin concoction as it reversed its course and spilled out onto the floor.

Chakotay caught her in his arms before she could hit the floor, and as he knelt, holding her limp form, Tom Paris appeared in the doorway. "It looks like that went well," the pilot stated sarcastically, and Chakotay glared back at him before looking towards the Doctor, whose own gaze was concerned, but held the obvious message: _I told you so_.

"Give her time," said Chakotay. "Obviously, it was a shock, but I think she'll come around." His voice dripped with guilt and he felt a desperate urge to cry.

The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure she will," he conceded. "I just want to make sure you understand that it was the only way to save the child."

"I know," answered the kneeling human. "It's just…" His voice trailed off.

Suddenly Paris was contrite, and moved forward to pat Chakotay's other shoulder. "It'll be all right, old man, you'll see."

 _I hope they're right_ , the thought to himself as he lifted Kathryn's fragile form off the ground and carried her back to the cot, where he sat with her, waiting for her to reawaken, hopefully having calmed. _I don't know how much more of this I can take…_

Immediately, he chastised himself for the thought. How dare he think of himself when it was she who had to endure so much? Sitting beside her, he laid his head in the crook of her arm and wept.


	38. Act V, Scene 14: Rejection

Kathryn awoke to the soft sound of someone sniffling. It was only a few seconds before she identified the source of the utterance as Chakotay, whose head was on the cot at her side. Almost instinctively, her hand went up to stroke his hair.

He jerked then, sitting up in a sudden movement that left her fingers bereft of their soft perch. Then she was looking into his eyes, and the pain she saw there sickened her as she remembered what had just transpired.

She gulped, and was suddenly aware of the foul taste in her mouth.

"I threw up," she whispered, mostly as an observation to herself.

Momentarily, his eyes closed in pain. When they reopened, she saw him breathe deeply before he spoke. "It's okay," he reassured her tentatively as he laid a hand upon her arm. "It was a shock."

Shock, yes. Perhaps this was the reason why time seemed to be crawling forward at a snail's pace, why her thoughts were sluggish and her whole body seemed to shake even as she lay still upon the makeshift biobed.

She tried again to gather her senses, but all she could feel were waves of guilt, splashing against her, trying to uproot her last semblance of coherent thought.

"I lost the baby," she stated, her voice shaking, though there were no tears in her eyes.

He shook his head. "You haven't lost it. It's just in the other room. When you're ready, we'll go see it again."

She went on, almost as if she hadn't heard him. "I couldn't carry it to term. The simplest thing…"

Suddenly a dull angry fire rose within her, and before he could figure out what to say, she continued. "And now…they took it…because I wasn't fit." She seemed barely aware of his gentle touch, and wouldn't meet his eyes. He reached out his other hand to stroke her forehead, brushing hair away from her ear.

 _Oh god, is this what she thinks? That it's her fault?_ "No, Kathryn…'they' didn't take it…we saved it. Just using a little Borg technology, is all. It'll still be our child."

Her eyes darkened as finally she met his gaze. "It's a Borg," she said before looking away again, her voice holding the same tone of finality she used to use when informing him of a decision she'd made unilaterally, one of which he did not approve.

He sighed, his hand falling back to his side. "It's a human child with some Borg implants. It wouldn't have survived otherwise. I really don't know the details; I haven't had a chance to ask Seven about it, but I know this child will never be a Borg, and I'm prepared to love him or her no matter what…"

The dark cloud of anger did not disperse, and if anything, loomed larger as she seemed to slowly take in what he was saying before she interrupted him.

"First she took you, then my child…she's betrayed me, just like she said she would when I first took her in…"

Chakotay was shocked. "Who, Seven? She hasn't taken anything."

Kathryn looked back at him, finally, and the anger seemed to drain from her eyes as quickly as it had appeared, and was replaced with a profound sadness. "No, I suppose she hasn't…but maybe she should."

The tattooed man gulped, feeling for the first time in months a genuine panic amid a chilling thought that perhaps this time she'd been hurt beyond repair.

She rolled onto her side then, facing away from him, and hid her face in her hands, though he knew, somehow, that she wasn't crying.

He touched a hand to her shoulder, and she squirmed away slightly, sending the unmistakable message that she did not wish to be comforted. Chakotay's heart pounded in his chest.

"I'm going to get the Doctor," he stated, rising, not knowing what else to do. She didn't respond.

The Doctor was with Seven in the other room, taking readings of the maturation chamber, every so often making slight adjustments in the setup. He looked up briefly as Chakotay entered.

"How's she doing?" the hologram asked.

The human shook his head. "Not so well. I need to know more about this…device. So that I can explain to her that her child will be a perfectly normal human being once it's done gestating."

When the Doctor did not immediately reply, Chakotay's already-racing heart increased its pace. "It will, won't it?"

Seven looked up then. "If I may, Doctor," she requested, and the Doctor nodded.

"With more time for development, I do believe it will be possible to build a maturation chamber that will allow the fetus to retain fully human characteristics. However, as we had little time to perfect the chamber, as it was needed immediately, this child must needs retain limited Borg physiology in order to survive, much as Icheb or I do."

Chakotay felt as if he'd been physically struck, and he sagged against the wall. "So Kathryn was right…our child is a Borg," he confirmed uneasily.

The Doctor interjected. "Not precisely, Commander," he refuted.

"Explain," Chakotay ordered, falling into his command voice as easily as the Doctor had used his old title out of habit.

"First of all, Seven is correct that this maturation chamber is new technology and requires enhancement. It is designed to preserve as much of the original form as possible. Seven was developing it for herself; it seemed the only way we could have children."

Chakotay blinked. "We?" he asked, momentarily startled. "You and Seven are…?"

"Yes, we are." Chakotay stared at Seven, who neither denied nor confirmed this revelation, no doubt considering it 'irrelevant.'

The human shook his head before pressing on. "So the child will retain some Borg implants…and maybe they can be removed later?"

"That is a possibility," the Doctor confirmed. "However, if you might recall, the attempt at removing implants from the infant we rescued along with Icheb and the others was unsuccessful. The child did not survive."

Chakotay thought for a moment that he would be sick. "Are you telling me that there's a possibility our child will die when we remove it from the maturation chamber?"

Seven approached him then, putting a hand on his arm and looking directly at him in a very human gesture. "This child will survive," she stated firmly.

He blinked, not sure whether this was fact or wishful thinking, and not wanting to ask any further questions for fear he'd discover the latter.

At that moment, Paris entered the room, looked around, then, baffled, spoke. "She's not here, is she?"

"Who?" Chakotay asked, confused, "Kathryn? I left her on the cot."

Paris shook his head. "Well, she's not there anymore. And she left her comm badge. Any idea where she'd go?"

The tattooed man's heart, which had just calmed, reclaimed its rapidity, seeming to jump directly to warp speed.

_A river was running between Kathryn's legs, and after a moment, she realized that the water was deep red…it was blood. As it rushed away from her, it roared with fury._

_After a moment, she looked down to realize there were things floating in the river._

_No, not things, she realized. Limbs. Human limbs._

_Small human limbs._

_She grabbed a hand as it floated by, then another. Soon she'd gathered an entire dismembered body in her arms, and looked down at her finding with despair._

_Just then, the limbs, ghost-like, began to squirm. She felt herself shake with fear as the body parts slowly assembled themselves into the shape of a small girl, who jumped down from Kathryn's arms to stand in the river of blood._

_She noticed the child was wearing distinctly Borg accessories._

_And then the girl spoke, and the voice emanating from her mouth was familiar and out of place._

" _Don't you recognize me?" she asked, and her voice dripped with seduction, even though it emanated from a child's mouth. "Don't you know your Queen?"_

_Kathryn couldn't speak, her voice silenced by fright. She shook her head at the child, who suddenly lost her balance, falling into the river._

_As the girl was carried away by the current, she cried out again, this time in a child's voice. "Mommy! Help! You've killed me!"_

_Finally, Kathryn's own voice returned, and with it she screamed_.

"I've found her," Tom said to Chakotay over the comm. "She's in the airlock."

"I'll be right there," said Chakotay, running. _Spirits, she's trying to space herself_.

As if he could read Chakotay's thoughts, Tom reassured him. "Hey…don't worry, Old Man," he said, "I think she's okay…she probably just wanted a bit of privacy. She seems to be asleep in there."

The 'Old Man' was only slightly relieved. "Don't go in until I arrive," he instructed. "Or unless…"

He didn't need to finish his thought. "I understand," Tom answered.

As Chakotay approached, they both heard a blood-curdling scream, and simultaneously moved to open the door.

They were at her side in an instant, the older man behind her, lifting her into a sitting position, the younger one facing her, scanning with a tricorder.

"She's dehydrated and agitated, but otherwise okay," Tom announced. "She could probably use some food too. Actually, I'm surprised the Doctor didn't stick an IV in her."

As she blinked, awakening to the sound of Tom's voice and the feel of Chakotay's arms on her shoulders, she felt profoundly and inexplicably angry.

She successfully resisted the urge to knock the tricorder out of Tom's hand, but instead wriggled out of Chakotay's grasp, turning to face her former first officer.

"Tom," she said, not looking at the man she was addressing, "please give us a minute."

Reluctantly, Tom rose and left the airlock, but stood just outside as the entrance closed. He took the moment to apprise the EMH of the situation.

"I can't raise that child," Kathryn announced quietly after Tom had left.

"Give it time," Chakotay pleaded with her. "You've got about six months to think about it." He didn't dare tell her what he'd learned.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. This is all so wrong."

He gave her a baffled look. "What do you mean?"

She made a sweeping motion with her hand. "Everything. That child. Its conception. Its…birth, or whatever you'd call it. And everything that happened in between."

 _Is she referring to my proposal?_ Chakotay took her hands in his. "It was conceived in love, Kathryn. And I'd like to think that over the last few months we've had a few happy moments."

She glared at him. "It wasn't love. It was anger. I was…crying." She sounded disgusted.

He swallowed harshly, realizing that he was going to have to address this issue he'd been avoiding since that night. "Gods, Kathryn, did I…do you feel like I took advantage of you?"

She gave a bitter laugh. "I was going to ask you the same thing. How dare I lure you with tears? Of course you were feeling sorry for me, and, God, Chakotay, I got you into something you weren't…we weren't ready for."

"I was ready," he refuted. "I've been ready for years."

Shaking her head, she denied it. "Don't sugar-coat it, Chakotay. We fucked, because I was angry and in tears, and you would have done anything to try to make it better. It wasn't love, it was guilt. All the signs afterwards…"

"What signs?" he interjected. "Whatever are you talking about?"

She sighed. "When you…proposed, I threw up. I should have known it was a bad omen."

"Bad omen, Kathryn?" He almost laughed. "I didn't think you believed in that stuff. Besides, it wasn't your fault. It was just morning sickness."

"Which I've had every day, all day, for the last two months! This morning…afternoon…whatever, when I woke up here, it was the first time I could remember I didn't feel nauseous. And then I threw up anyway."

She was crying now, finally, her tears shamelessly cascading down her face. He reached to wipe them away. "It was a tough pregnancy," he admitted, "but it's over now, and we're going to have a beautiful child…"

"How can you say that?" she asked angrily. "I am not going to have that child at all, because I was stupid enough to fall from a tree and kill it."

"It's not dead," he told her, trying to keep his voice calm even as his exasperation grew.

"It's dead to me," she stated.

He was worried beyond belief now. The Kathryn Janeway he knew would never abandon a child…Borg or no…especially not her own. _Except that she did, once…or rather, we did it for her, leaving her offspring, conceived with Tom Paris, on that otherwise-uninhabited planet in the Delta Quadrant. Spirits, was I already helping to destroy her psyche, even then?_

Before he could think of a reply, she spoke again. "I need some time," she told him. Her next words seemed to rip a hole through his heart. "Away from you."

He struggled valiantly not to cry. "If that's what you need," he answered, resigned. "But there's something I need to explain to you first."

She nodded her permission.

"Yesterday morning, when you awoke, and you thought I was an 8472 because I touched your mind…"

She waved a hand to stop him. "It's all right. I was practically delirious from a nightmare. I thought we went over that."

"No, Kathryn, it's not that simple. You see, I did touch your mind…it was an accident, but…"

"You what?!" she cried, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. She curled her knees to her chest and hugged them.

"Remember what I told you about your telepathic abilities?"

She nodded.

"Well, I have them too. You're better at receiving, and I'm better at sending. I was dreaming too. I think I accidentally sent you a thought, and you received it, but our minds were too undisciplined to understand what was happening, and with the stress of everything going on…"

She got up suddenly and began to pace, her arms hugging herself as if she were very cold.

"Please, say something," Chakotay begged.

After a moment, she stopped and turned to him. "I think it's time we pay a visit to Mr. Tuvok."


	39. Interlude, Scene 1: Cleansing

Over more than two decades, Kathryn Janeway had learned to interpret Tuvok's raised eyebrow. Its meaning ranged from "Are you kidding?" to "Fascinating!" to "I think you may want to reconsider that decision." More than once, she could swear it signaled "I am here for you."

Today, his raised eyebrow clearly stated "What took you so long?"

She felt a strong urge to hug him, but, assuming the Vulcan would be uncomfortable with such an action, she refrained. The only time she had ever embraced her logical friend had been erased from history due to the effects of a chronoton weapon, so she was unaware that, should the need arise, he would in fact willingly hold her.

Tuvok had been concerned about his former captain for quite some time. His awareness of her fragile mental state began in the Delta Quadrant, but by the time her need became urgent, he had his own illness to attend to, and then they were home, and it was no longer his responsibility – or his right – to look closely after her. He was glad he could finally be of assistance.

"So, you can help?" she asked him plainly.

He nodded his affirmation, and tears came to her eyes. He gave her a subtle look of disapproval, and she checked them. "It will not be easy," he warned. "The path ahead of you is a difficult one to traverse."

"At this point, Tuvok, I'm willing to try anything," she admitted. "I thought…" Her voice trailed off then, as she realized that perhaps confessing Chakotay's failure would be unwise.

Tuvok did not prod. Instead, his eyebrow told her simply, "I understand."

Saying goodbye to Chakotay a second time was almost more than Kathryn could bear. She did embrace her human friend, holding him tightly until reluctantly, she pulled away.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. _Whenever I leave you alone, bad things seem to happen to you._

She looked strangely at him, and his heart skipped a beat as he wondered whether she knew what he was thinking. "Tuvok will take good care of me," she told him.

It was then that he knew it was for the best. When Kathryn Janeway admitted to needing to be taken care of, something was very, very wrong. He trusted Tuvok implicitly, and moreover, Tuvok knew even more than Chakotay did about the situation with Species 8472. He would not allow harm to come to Kathryn, and he would see to it that she obtained the necessary skills to avoid a recurrence of what they'd begun to refer to as 'the Court-Martial incident.' He still shuddered when he remembered what had transpired in that hall.

Chakotay moved forward to kiss her goodbye, but she pushed him away. "Please don't," she begged, quietly, the only lingering contact between them her hand on his arm. "Don't make this any more difficult than it already is."

Her eyes searched his for understanding, and, amidst a sea of unease and worry, she found it. A tear trickled unbidden down his cheek, and a fleeting thought of the irony of the situation occurred to him…why was it that she, whose ordeal had been more than most humans could bear, was dry-eyed while he was the one who was crying?

Silently, his mind answered the question. _It is because I am afraid I will lose her forever_.

 _Trust me_ , implored her eyes. _I will return to you_.

And so she took her leave of him, and was escorted to Vulcan, where she began to retrain her mind.

The first month was difficult. They left her alone with her nightmares, and too often she screamed out to the empty room. Her tears soaked readily into the dusty floor, but she quickly learned to quell them, for dehydration was a constant worry in the Vulcan heat. Her cell was cooler than outside, and they brought her a generous amount of water, but even breathing the dry air sapped her body's precious fluids.

At first, the only food she received was, impossibly, the soup Tuvok had offered her in her quarters after she'd fainted, a lifetime ago. At first, she was angry, and refused to eat it, cursing Tuvok for trying to torture her, but her hunger was gradually beginning to return, and finally, she greedily downed the whole bowl at once.

And promptly regurgitated it onto the dry cell floor.

Her caretakers said nothing, but cleaning supplies were delivered with her next meal – the same soup and double the usual allotment of water.

This time she was more careful, and took a few sips at a time, despite her growling stomach. She took nearly an hour to drink about three-quarters of the liquid, but, to her relief, it stayed down.

It was only when she had begun to finish every bowl of soup she was given that her meals became more varied. The first time she received a different meal, she stared curiously at it for quite some time before eating. It seemed almost as if this could not be edible, as she barely remembered ingesting anything solid, and wondered whether she still knew how to chew.

The food was bland, but after a few bites, she realized it was a welcome change.

She was still left alone, and more than once found herself sitting, hugging her knees, shivering despite the heat, and wishing it were Chakotay's arms around her rather than her own. But it was a relief too, the isolation; she no longer needed to worry about upsetting anyone else, and she found herself calming more and more quickly after each episode as her body learned that panic would only exhaust and dehydrate it.

After the first month, her biggest obstacle was boredom. She began to count her breaths, and her heartbeats, and made a game of speeding them up or slowing them down. She reviewed her favorite mathematical proofs, reveling in the absolute logic and truth that had excited her from early childhood. Sometimes, she saved her meals instead of eating them right away, allowing herself a reward only after she completed a difficult problem in her head.

At first, she tried as best she could not to think about the people she had left behind. When the image of Chakotay or the baby in the maturation chamber came to mind, she could not easily control the emotional turmoil she felt, and would find herself whimpering pathetically. But as she began to master her emotions, she found that she could muse about the fate of her family without becoming upset. It was strange, the odd detachment she felt, but that life seemed so far away now, it was hard not to consider it abstractly.

She began to wonder whether everything she remembered was but a dream, and the only reality was the small cell and her silent Vulcan companions who left her food and water. In solitude she found peace, in simplicity was happiness, and in boredom there was freedom.

Several months into her stay, she awoke to find a small amount of blood on the floor. Instead of panicking, she eyed it curiously, wondering how she could possibly be injured. She felt well enough, and examined her body unsuccessfully to find the damage. It was after some time, and a vague sensation of abdominal cramping, that she realized it was a phenomenon she hadn't experienced in years…menstruation. And with this knowledge came a profound, though muted joy. It lasted four days, at the end of which her Vulcan guardians delivered a sponge and a bucket of water with her meal.

It occurred to her that in the whole time she had existed in the small cell, she had not had a shower or bath, yet she did not feel particularly dirty. However, she made a ritual of the sponge bath, beginning by shucking the light tunic that she had worn for months on end, leaving herself completely nude. In the absence of clothing she felt free and innocent. As she wiped her body clean of blood and oils, she imagined that she was also cleansing her mind and soul.

She knew not how many months she had stayed in isolation when, amidst the monotony, she felt something flutter inside of her. It felt strangely like an embrace, and she became aware of the sensation that someone was trying to communicate with her.

"Kathryn," she heard softly, and the voice was familiar and welcome, filling her with warmth and love.

"Chakotay?" she called aloud.


	40. Interlude, Scene 2: Illness

Chakotay awoke to the sound of a low moan, and belatedly realized he was the cause of the sound. Before his eyes could open, he felt the soothing touch of a hand on his forehead, and imagined that the kind appendage belonged to his former captain.

The voice, however, was Seven's. "You are ill," she observed, and it was then that he realized that he was sticky with sweat and yet cold. He shivered as he opened his eyes.

"Perhaps I should attend the child alone today," Seven suggested.

"No, I'm his father, I should...I'll be okay. The connection usually makes me feel better," he admitted.

Seven raised her eyebrow. "You have felt this way before?" she queried.

"I..." He wasn't sure how much to admit, and decided that to let Seven know too much would be unwise - she might cut off his visiting time altogether, possibly at the Doctor's insistence - so instead he lied. "I meant that the connection feels good, and I'm sure it'll make me feel better, or at least, distract me. I don't want to miss a session."

"Very well," conceded the former Borg, "but afterwards, you must see the Doctor."

As they walked towards the maturation chamber, Seven turned to him and spoke again. "There is another alternative," she reminded him. "We can remove the child from the chamber and allow his human characteristics to assert themselves."

"I thought you said it wasn't safe," answered Chakotay. "I can't put my child's life in jeopardy."

Seven nodded. "Every day it grows safer. This has never been done before, and the child is well past the stage at which the Borg infant that _Voyager_ rescued perished." Chakotay cringed at the reminder of the very mortal risk involved, but Seven continued, his emotional reaction unnoticed by his companion. "If this child had been brought to full term inside his mothers womb, he would likely be mobile by now."

"But...the maturation chamber is stimulating muscle growth, is it not?"

"Of course," Seven answered. "What use would a new Borg drone be with no strength? It is the stimulation of brain growth that we must worry about. Ordinarily, the child would be connected to the collective constantly. I do not know if our sessions are enough, since we have no prior data with which to compare our methods."

"I was hoping to wait until Kathryn could attend her child's 'birth'," Chakotay lamented, trying to find an excuse to continue the intoxicating sessions. "Is it unsafe to keep the child in the maturation chamber a while longer?"

Seven peered at him curiously. "I do not believe that it will be damaging to the child to remain in the maturation chamber for a few more weeks," she stated. "After that, we may have to remove him, whether or not his mother has returned."

Chakotay sighed and shivered again while he tried to imagine what Kathryn was doing. He missed her terribly, and, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he was quite angry with her for abandoning their child. However, he knew she needed to heal; he just wished it would happen faster.

He felt the familiar sting of the implant being attached to his neck, and the room dissolved around him, the maturation chamber replaced with a bassinet, the carpet supplanted by green grass, and the walls replaced with trees and shrubs. The child inside the bassinet cooed, and he leaned forward and picked up his young son, his heart filling with love and contentment as he did so. Instantly, the flu-like symptoms disappeared, and he was an ordinary happy father. He murmured to the child as Seven watched attentively from a slight distance.

After a time, Seven spoke. "The Doctor is calling me," she announced, quietly enough so as not to startle the baby. "I must go. Will you be all right here alone? It does appear that your symptoms have abated."

Chakotay nodded silently, and Seven dematerialized from the clearing. He was thankful that today he would not have to sneak a session by himself, especially knowing that, if his fever returned when he exited, as he expected it to, the Doctor may insist upon his staying away from the connection. He cursed himself slightly for crying out in his sleep, causing Seven to discover his affliction.

He was soon distracted by a faint rustle, and looked up to see a familiar face smiling at him through the leaves. When she did not disappear immediately, his hopes rose, and he called her name as he had so many times before, only to be disappointed as she faded out of existence. A few times, in the microseconds before he lost her, he saw her lips move, and could swear she was calling his name in response. She stepped forward into the clearing, and his eyes became moist with anticipation as he realized that today, the vision might stay. Although he knew she wasn't real, he allowed himself to imagine that he was with the mother of his child, and that fantasy gave him a profound sense of peace and joy.

As she approached to stand in front of him, no words were spoken, and, silently, he handed her the child, which she took from him gracefully. With one hand, she cradled the child, and with the other, she reached out a finger and touched it lightly to her child's face and arms. When she reached a tiny hand, it grabbed hold of her finger tightly, and, startled, she looked up at the man who was observing with rapt attention.

He bent down slightly and kissed her, closing his eyes to appreciate the perfect moment.

Suddenly the baby squawked and, startled, Chakotay opened his eyes, only to see that both mother and child were gone. He felt his knees buckle under him, and had only a fraction of a second to realize something was terribly wrong before he lost consciousness.

He came to on his bed with the Doctor's face peering down at him, and became acutely aware of an ache that seemed to permeate every inch of his body. He groaned, but managed to croak out a question. "What's going on?" he asked.

The Doctor scowled. "You had a seizure, and are clearly unwell," he remarked, "but I cannot figure out what is wrong. I have tried all the usual treatments and you are not responding to any of them. Frankly, I am at a loss. I thought perhaps you could give me some clues? Seven told me that you'd indicated that you've been feeling under the weather for a while now, and I must object to the fact that I was not informed earlier."

 _Damn_ , he thought, _either I'm not a very good liar, or Seven can see right through me...or both_.

He swallowed, and as he contemplated what to tell the Doctor, Seven entered his field of vision. "Doctor," she stated, "this must wait. We have a priority call from Mister Tuvok. He says it's urgent and will only speak with Chakotay."

The Doctor sighed with annoyance. "Very well, but I don't want him out of this bed just yet. Route it here."

Soon, Chakotay was sitting, peering down at Tuvok's face on the screen, wondering how a Vulcan could manage to look so grim without any discernible expression. Tuvok raised an eyebrow at him, and he briefly pondered whether his own illness was apparent.

"You must come to Vulcan immediately," Tuvok stated plainly.

"What's wrong?" Chakotay asked worriedly.

"The admiral is very ill," the face on the screen told him.

"I thought she was getting better!" the human objected.

"Indeed, she has made much progress," the Vulcan stated. "But right now her life is in danger. I must insist that this conversation wait until after you arrive."

Chakotay's heart pounded with fear at the news, but he nodded solemnly. "I will need transportation," he stated.

"It is already arranged," said Tuvok. "I am sending you the details now."

After the link terminated, Chakotay lay back on the bed and felt hot tears trickle into his hair. _Spirits_ , he prayed silently, _please take care of her_. _I can't bear to lose her again_.


	41. Final Act, Scene 1: Diagnosis

Tuvok quickly ushered Chakotay into the private room where Kathryn lay sprawled on a mattress on the floor. Chakotay rushed to her side and knelt by her, reaching out a hand to stroke her shoulder.

Immediately, she jerked away from him and sat up, her eyes furious and unfocused. Slowly, recognition dawned, and she realized how pale he looked. Salvaging a semblance of sense, she addressed him. "You don't look well."

"I don't feel so great either," he admitted. "But I could say the same of you."

Suddenly her anger returned. "It's your fault!" she accused as she began to pummel him with her fists. "You got me sick!"

He held her shoulders and immobilized her as best he could, but still her punches rained down upon his chest, and he stole a helpless look towards their Vulcan friend, who was already rushing forward, a hypospray ready in his hand.

As Tuvok injected her, she slumped forward into Chakotay's arms, unconscious, and he gently lowered her back onto the mattress. He brushed damp hair from her eyes and felt the heat radiating from her forehead. "She's feverish," he remarked as he stood up. "What's wrong with her?"

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, we have yet to resolve that mystery."

Chakotay nodded. "Tell me what happened."

The Vulcan looked uncomfortable. "After a lengthy period of isolation, during which she proved capable of most extraordinary control, for a human, we began more rigorous training exercises, both physical and mental. She was excelling at meditation techniques, until a few weeks ago, when she stopped halfway through a session, claiming not to be able to concentrate. That night, during her physical training, she collapsed. She was sent to the medical facility, but they found nothing wrong. We placed her under observation, during which time she began to exhibit physical symptoms that did not respond to standard treatments. Since then, she has been behaving more and more erratically, as you have just observed. She sleeps only when we sedate her, and she has refused food and drink for the last four days."

Chakotay shuddered. "I take it there was more than a sedative in that hypospray."

"You assume correctly," Tuvok confirmed.

Suddenly, Chakotay's hand went to his forehead as a wave of dizziness overcame him. "I need to sit down," he commented, and sank to the floor awkwardly.

Tuvok eyed him peculiarly. "Are you quite all right?" he asked.

"No," Chakotay responded angrily. "I don't feel well at all, and she's worse off than I am." He looked up at Tuvok pleadingly as tears began to sting his eyes. "I can't lose her, Tuvok, I just can't..." His voice trailed off and he hid his head in his hands.

The Vulcan knelt in front of him. "Chakotay," he stated firmly, "for how long have you been ill?"

The human did not answer immediately, and the Vulcan decided that more persuasion was necessary. Conveniently, it was also the truth. "Your answer may help us to save her," Tuvok added.

"About three weeks," Chakotay admitted. "But how is that going to help Kathryn?"

Tuvok pondered for a while before answering. "I have a hypothesis as to the cause of both of your illnesses," he stated, sounding slightly surprised. "It is...most unusual, but not entirely illogical."

"Great," Chakotay mumbled, feeling ever more miserable by the second. "So what is the cure?"

Tuvok's response was immediate. "You must mate with her."

The human choked and coughed, looking up at his friend. "It sounds like you think she's suffering from the _pon farr_."

"Indeed," was the calm answer.

Chakotay stared up at the Vulcan in disbelief. "She's human," he stated weakly. "And female. The only time I've ever known of a human female suffering from the blood fever was when a stricken Vulcan male melded with her. Please tell me that's not the case."

"That is unlikely," answered Tuvok, "given that the only male Vulcan with which she has had contact recently is myself. And although we do not need to understand the cause in order to effect treatment, I suspect the illness was brought on by a combination of hormonal imbalances, mental discipline, and telepathic encounters. It is not precisely the _pon farr_ but the symptoms are similar enough that the treatment might prove effective."

The tattooed man shook his head. " _Might_ prove effective, Tuvok? I'm not going to take advantage of her on a theory."

"Must I remind you that her life is in jeopardy? Also, presumably you have done this at least once before. The child is evidence of that."

 _Yes, exactly once. And I'm not exactly proud of it either_.

"There's another obstacle too. I'm not exactly at the top of my game, and she's feeling worse than I am."

"That is an obstacle we may easily overcome," Tuvok answered without elaborating. "However, there is one more mystery we must solve."

Chakotay understood. "How it is possible that I have been experiencing her symptoms?"

"Precisely. Somehow, you have succeeded in forming a telepathic bond with her."

The human blanched, and confessed his visions to his friend. The subsequent silence was deafening.

Finally the Vulcan spoke. "It is possible that your child, as a result of innate telepathic talent combined with certain Borg technology, has acted as a repeater of sorts, boosting the amplitude of your signals so that you may communicate over large distances. Has he been removed from the maturation chamber?"

"No," Chakotay answered. "I was hoping to wait until Kathryn returned. But Seven tells me he must be removed soon, or else his mental development is at risk, since he is not continually connected with a collective."

Tuvok's raised eyebrow told him that this was not the entire story, and the words that followed chilled him further. "If, indeed, the child is an integral part of your bond, then there is no telling what removing him from the chamber will do to his system."

"Spirits," Chakotay cursed, "Are you telling me my child must live his entire life in a maturation chamber?"

"Certainly not," Tuvok replied. "However, precautions must be taken to remove the child from the mental bond before he may be separated safely from any of the Borg technology which is currently integrated into his nervous system."

"What kind of precautions?" the human asked fearfully.

"I believe," spoke Tuvok carefully, "you must perform the mating bond."

"Mating...bond?" Chakotay echoed. "What the hell is that? I thought you said we had already formed a telepathic bond."

"Yes," the Vulcan answered, "but it is weak, somewhat like the bond that remains after the meld that Vulcans undergo at the age of seven when they are betrothed. After the male experiences his first _pon farr_ , he and his mate perform a much deeper meld, which forms a bond that lasts for their entire lives, or until it is forcefully broken."

If Chakotay had not already been sitting down, he would have fallen down. He rested his head in his hands once more, the beginnings of a terrible headache starting to form. _I can't make this decision for her, take advantage of her, change her entire life_ , said one part of his brain. _If you do not, she may die_ , answered the other.

Finally, he looked back up at his trusted companion. "How is it possible for two humans to perform a Vulcan mating bond?" he whispered.

"A high priestess, expert in the telepathic arts, would assist," Tuvok replied.

"And what makes you think it will solve our problems?"

"It is...a hunch," Tuvok admitted. "However, it is the only theory we have, and if we do nothing, you will likely both die, as might the child."

Slowly, Chakotay nodded. "All right," he answered. "Make whatever preparations are necessary. But she needs to agree. To all of it. Otherwise, we take our chances with inaction."

"Understood," answered the Vulcan, and exited the room, leaving Chakotay alone with his thoughts and his unconscious intended.

* * *

Kathryn awoke to the soft sound of sobbing, and, for a moment, was quite confused, believing herself alone, yet knowing she was not the cause of the sound. In fact, despite her illness, she was quite certain she hadn't cried in several months, at least.

Looking around her, she identified the sound as emanating from a huddled mass beside her bed. Operating nearly automatically, she crawled towards it, encircling the creature in her arms. "Don't cry," she begged, still not realizing whom she was embracing. "Please."

The sobbing quieted slightly as the pitiful form uncurled itself enough to grab onto her. It pressed her to its torso, and she pondered the oddity of this position; she hadn't been embraced once in her entire time on Vulcan, and had nearly forgotten what it felt like. It was not, however, unpleasant, so she allowed it, meanwhile stroking the body's back, hoping to ease its upset. Such an emotional outburst was surely not to be encouraged, yet still she instinctively offered comfort. Patiently, she waited. Answers would come.

And they did. The mass in her arms finally spoke her name, and the familiar voice startled her enough that she would have jumped away had he not been holding her so tightly.

"Chakotay," she breathed. "You're here. You're actually here." She allowed herself to relax slightly into his embrace, but finally, reluctantly, pulled away. "What's wrong?"

His swollen eyes focused on hers for a second, then he looked to the floor briefly, trying to compose his thoughts. When he looked back at her, the sadness and fear in his eyes was evidence that his news was not pleasant. She braced herself for the worst.

He swallowed. "Are you still willing to marry me?"

She blinked, caught off-guard. The memory of his proposal and her agreement was so distant she could have believed it entirely a product of her imagination. However, her answer was resolute. "Yes, of course, if you still want me."

He breathed a sigh of relief, then continued to the more difficult part of the conversation. "Would you be willing not only to marry me, but to form a permanent mental bond with me?"

She was confused and slightly shocked, but her mental training led her to compartmentalize her reaction and focus on understanding the proposition. "Like a mating bond?" she asked. "Whatever for? And how is that possible? We're humans, not Vulcans."

He nearly smiled at the hint of her familiar inquisitive nature making itself evident. But he did not know how long her hypospray-induced lucidity would last, so he pressed forward quickly. "Tuvok says it's possible, with the help of a Vulcan high priestess. And that it's the only way to save your life, and mine, and our child's."

Again she blinked, the only indication that she was processing the news. "The child is in danger?"

He nodded. "We must act quickly."

"I'll do whatever it takes to save my daughter," she answered without hesitation.

He was momentarily stunned. "You don't have a daughter, Kathryn," he told her. "The child is male."

Finally, her facade began to crack, and she lifted a hand to her mouth. "I was so certain," she muttered, "I had a vision that the child would become the Borg queen..."

"Spirits, Kathryn..." he answered, quite concerned now. "I didn't realize that was why you left."

She shook her head. "I had to go; I was...not coping. It's better now, except lately. I'm glad, Chakotay...I'm glad we have a son. I'd like to meet him."

Joy began to bubble deeply within the man's soul. "You will, Kathryn, after we are joined." He embraced her again, and spoke over her shoulder. "I've missed you. I love you so much."

"I've missed you too, Chakotay," she answered, her voice cracking slightly. As she returned the hug, she felt her eyes begin to overflow, and, even more surprising than the tears themselves, she realized she was not at all ashamed of them.

They did not notice when Tuvok reentered the chamber, but his announcement was loud and firm so as to be sure to reach them. "It is time."


	42. Final Act, Scene 2: Bond

Startled, Chakotay quickly disentangled himself and shakily rose to his feet. Next, he offered his hand to Kathryn, who grabbed it tightly and rose to stand with him. Her knees wobbled slightly, and his arm went around her waist to steady her. Tuvok waited patiently as the human man contemplated attempting to carry his betrothed. The Vulcan's steady gaze warned him that such was inadvisable on two fronts: even if he were able - which he wasn't sure, in his condition, that he was - they needed, somehow, to make it there separately, under their own power. Whether it was a tradition or a precaution, Chakotay didn't know, but he marveled at how Tuvok could express so much meaning without moving a single muscle. He sighed and waited for Kathryn to be ready.

She, too, had seen her old friend's face and knew what was required of her. So, after a moment, she pushed away from Chakotay and gave him a quick pat as she moved away from him. She didn't speak; she didn't need to; he knew: _I'll be all right now_.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed before he let her go. _Yes_ , he thought, _but for how long_? He made it a point to hurry, but as Tuvok led the way, he had no choice to do otherwise. Miraculously, Kathryn too was able to follow speedily; Chakotay stole a glance at her as frequently as he could manage, and she was always looking solidly forward, no doubt concentrating fully on the task at hand. He almost cried at the thought that her effort, once applied so mercilessly to the job of running _Voyager_ , was now maximally engaged towards the simple task of walking forward. He gulped back his tears and tried not to think about it.

Finally, they arrived at a rocky alcove, sparsely decorated with stone pews arranged in a circle around a sandy stage. On that stage was a large gong and an impossibly high throne, on which sat the most aged-looking Vulcan Chakotay had ever seen. Set deeply into her intricately-lined face, her eyes spoke of centuries of knowledge and wisdom, and for a moment, Chakotay believed himself to truly be in the presence of a god. Unlike the elders of his tribe, who he never fully honored, thinking them foolish and feeble, this woman did not demand respect; she didn't need to. It was not an order or a request, it was a simple fact; nobody who beheld her would consider any less than total trust and obeisance.

Before they knew it, before they had time to register that their bodies had reacted instinctively to the commanding presence of the High Priestess, they were kneeling at her feet, side by side, ready to do anything she asked of them. Tuvok had descended the steps and seated himself calmly on one of the pews. The priestess chanted something in an ancient Vulcan tongue; neither human understood a single word. She switched then to a heavily-accented Federation Standard.

"Admiral Janeway, Chakotay of Earth. You honor us with your request. The mating bond is not to be taken lightly; I have been assured that you have carefully considered your decision, and so I will not dishonor our ancestors by asking again. You must open your minds completely and submit to the meld; only then will the joining be successful."

Kathryn wondered at the continued use of her erstwhile title, but knew not to interrupt. Strangely enough, she found that, although she knew that what was about to happen would alter her life forever - privacy, for one, would never be the same - she was calm and unafraid. Somehow, she knew that it wouldn't be as much of a change as it seemed. She closed her eyes, and Chakotay copied, sensing that she knew more about this than he.

The priestess descended from her throne and touched the pressure points on their faces, one human with each hand. Her brow knitted in concentration as a curious sensation overwhelmed the couple.

_Running through a field of corn, chasing a dog, as the golden sun beats down and summons sweat, which trickles from the neck under a loose-fitting T-shirt...contacting a spirit guide for the first time, feeling the frustration of getting no straight answers...terrible pain, searing from head to toe, the fear of impending death...overwhelming grief, loved ones never to be seen again...a wedding of friends, confetti in the air and smiles all around...the pressure of an exam, the incredible weight of the knowledge that on this score rests an entire future...shame and guilt and a sickening realization that the future will be irrevocably affected by one personal failure..._

After a time, the images and emotions ran together like bright colors in a hot wash. Neither knew which experience was whose, and it didn't really matter. Finally, the swirling images began to fade, leaving a feeling of calm comfort in their wake. Chakotay opened his eyes and was unsurprised to feel tears dripping from them; he was at once saddened and angry that so much of Kathryn's painful past had been hidden from him. However, his emotions received a quick reply, two simple words that traveled effortlessly into his mind: _I'm sorry_. It was then he knew that the reason she had hidden so much from him was not because she did not trust him or did not wish to share that part of herself; she was simply trying to protect him, and even now, she regretted that he had to feel her pain.

She was grateful too, however; although in the past months she had learned to master her emotions and set aside her painful memories as history that cannot be changed, it was infinitely comforting to have another person who _understood_. She didn't need to talk about it, she didn't need to relive it; he just _knew_ now what was inside of her. And she wouldn't have wanted the person with whom she shared the most private part of her soul to be anyone else. As she opened her eyes, she half expected to find herself crying, but with relief and pride, she realized that her eyes, unlike his, were dry. It was not that she no longer felt the pain of her own experiences, nor that she did not sympathize with his own tragedies and regrets, but that she was truly and finally ready to accept the world as it was and must be.

As she looked into Chakotay's overflowing eyes, she saw something very familiar, and, although she had suspected as to its nature before, it was only now that she knew for certain that what she saw was pure desire; she knew, because she also felt it, through the bond and in her own body.

The priestess nodded at them before ascending once more into her throne with the help of a young aide. Tuvok was surprised to observe pride ever-so-subtly shining in those ancient eyes, and suppressed a ping of jealousy as he gathered his charges once again and led them to their bridal chamber.

As soon as they were alone, their bodies governed their actions. Tuvok was correct; the illness was not an impediment; in fact, both of them had completely forgotten about it. Lovemaking was an experience unlike anything either of them had ever felt before; every touch, every caress was felt doubly; every sensation was heightened by the resonance reverberating between them. Chakotay briefly wondered how the Vulcans could possibly bottle up such exquisite sensations.

It was only when they lay exhausted in each other's arms, a sticky sheen of sweat and other fluids covering their bodies, that her tears came, trickling lazily from her heavy eyelids. He did not see them; his eyes were closed, but he felt them as surely as if they ran down his own cheeks. A fleeting thought passed through him that perhaps he had hurt her, but just as quickly he understood that this was an inevitable and welcome reaction to an amazing adventure. Without speaking, without exchanging glances or meaningful gestures, she communicated to him an intense gratitude and deep love, and in response, he wept quietly with her until they both fell into a peaceful slumber. When they awoke, they would thirst and hunger implacably, but they would be well.

Unbeknownst to the sleeping lovers, the priestess who had enabled their union spoke over subspace with one Admiral Owen Paris.

"It was successful," she informed the admiral, and her steady voice did not betray her slight surprise that two humans were capable of such a feat. "You may proceed."

"Thank you," Paris answered cordially. "When may I see them?"

The aged Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "As soon as you wish," she answered. "Expedience is encouraged. We are also eager to enable peace."

The admiral nodded. "There has been too much suffering." He raised a hand in the standard Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long life to you as well, Admiral," answered the priestess.


	43. Final Act, Scene 3: Mission

As the newly bonded pair lay in their connubial bed, Chakotay felt Kathryn's heart beating much faster than its usual rate, and it worried him. Compounding his concern was the lack of a retort from his beloved's mind; no soothing feeling of warmth and reassurance was to be had. She was undoubtedly nervous, and about what he had no clue. He gently reached out into the bond for answers, and felt nothing but unease.

"You're apprehensive," he observed aloud.

She blinked, knowing she could not lie to him; he would know immediately of her attempted deception. "I suppose I am," she admitted as she sat up.

"May I ask about what?" he asked worriedly as he moved to face her.

She sighed. "You may," she replied, "but I'm not sure I have a good answer for you." She felt his dissatisfaction with her response and attempted to elaborate. "This all feels so strange."

"Strange good or strange bad?" he inquired.

She peered at him curiously. "Can't you feel it too?"

He pondered for a moment. "I suppose it's not as weird to me. It's not unlike a vision quest, only…realer."

"That's just it," she responded. "It feels so alien, I'm not sure it's real. I keep expecting to wake up and find out all of this is just a fantasy." She shivered at the thought.

"Hey," he cooed, pulling her close, even though he realized she couldn't possibly be cold in the Vulcan heat, "are your fantasies usually this elaborate?"

"No," she conceded, "but I think I understand now what it's like to be part of a collective. I'm beginning to realize why it was such a shock to Seven to leave."

At that, Chakotay chuckled and pulled slightly away, maintaining contact with her shoulders. "This is nothing like the collective," he argued. "When I was linked with Riley, and later with Seven…" He stopped short as she gave him a sharp look. "When we separated her - remember Scorpion? Spirits, I can't believe you thought…" He breathed for a moment, then continued. "Anyway, the collective was very dry. Lots of thoughts, not so many emotions. With you…it's like being alive twice over. It's invigorating. But…you don't feel the same way, do you?"

"I…I'm not sure," she told him. Then she looked ruefully at him. "Shoot…I think we're losing the bond. We couldn't argue before…"

He cupped her cheek. "Kathryn, I'm still here," he said, all the while reaching out with his mind to caress her.

She visibly relaxed as she felt the comfort of his mental embrace, coupled with the more subtle physical connection. "Actually, it's comforting that I can still disagree with you. We must be learning how to manage the bond."

Chakotay smiled as he felt her pulse slow slightly. "Yes," he agreed. "Vulcans must be able to separate themselves when they need to; there's no reason we shouldn't have that ability as well."

She smiled back and settled into his embrace, all the while curiously tugging at the bond, testing its limits. He patiently allowed her access, knowing that she would not be satisfied until she felt that she knew what she was dealing with and how to control it. The bond was still somewhat foreign to him as well, but he was so glad to finally be with Kathryn that any form the bond took was a delight.

They were basking in each other's company when the door chimed. Kathryn turned to look questioningly at her bondmate, and his eyes and mind told her that he was as surprised as she. Quickly, they dressed into their robes and allowed their visitor entry.

Neither was prepared for the sight of one Admiral Owen Paris. Instinctively, they both snapped to attention. Kathryn's innards filled with a sickly unease that Chakotay sensed too through their connection. He attempted to offer mental reassurances; while he did not know to what they owed this visit, some possibilities came to mind, not all of them unpleasant.

The admiral looked slightly sheepish, as if he knew upon what he had intruded. Nevertheless, his urgency was palpable even without a bond.

However, Paris took a moment to assess the two former officers visually, and seemed satisfied with the result. Slowly, a grin spread across his features, and suddenly, he stepped forward and drew Kathryn into a tight embrace. She was instantly reminded of the last time he had done just that.

_This conversation never happened…_

Just as suddenly, the admiral stepped away, keeping a grip on her shoulders.

"You look well," he observed.

She blinked, and Chakotay shared her confusion through the bond. "I _am_ well, Admiral. Did you expect otherwise?"

He laughed. "Point taken. It's good to see you, Katie."

"And you, Admiral," she answered without hesitation.

He frowned. "Please, Kathryn, call me Owen. We do share the same rank."

She raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that I had been relieved of my rank."

Owen rubbed her shoulders slightly. "God, Kathryn, I'm so sorry about that. It was supposed to be temporary; we just wanted to give you time to rest and recover. That's all. The President sort of took things into his own hands, and then…"

He didn't need to continue. Two perspectives of the horrific event in the Federation Council Chamber popped instantly into Kathryn's mind, and she struggled not to recoil as a result.

She stared at him in disbelief. "That doesn't change the fact that it happened. I'm no longer an admiral. I've accepted that."

Paris sighed, dropping his arms to his sides. "I was afraid of that. Kathryn, the truth is, we need you now, more than ever. There's a special assignment that we'd like to send you on."

She shook her head, and Chakotay felt her defiance through the bond. Part of him wanted to slap some sense into her and tell her to accept whatever it was that Paris wanted to offer, but the other part knew that her caution was warranted. "I'm sorry, but I have other concerns now. I have a son that I haven't even met, and a husband…" She looked longingly at Chakotay as she mentioned him. It occurred to her that this was the first time she'd used that word to describe him, and it felt oddly comfortable.

"Your son is on his way here, along with Seven of Nine and the Doctor," interrupted the admiral. "And we need Mr. Chakotay too. In fact, as the only two bonded humans, we specifically need you both. You can bring your child with you on the mission."

A thousand objections flashed through Kathryn's mind, and she wondered briefly whose ideas they were, but decided quickly that it didn't matter. "I'm not going to bring my son on a dangerous mission," she stated firmly. "Besides, I'm on my honeymoon, and…"

The admiral cleared his throat, cutting her off. "How would you like to spend the rest of your honeymoon in the Delta Quadrant? I understand that region of space has particular significance for you two."

Kathryn exchanged shocked glances with Chakotay before speaking again. "All right, Admiral, you've got my attention." Again, Owen Paris winced at the use of his title, reminded again of how much torment this woman had been through. _But I need her_.

"Perhaps we'd better sit down," the admiral suggested. Chakotay gestured towards the only chair in the room, while he and Kathryn sat down next to each other on the bed.

When all three were seated, the admiral began to explain. "First of all, a lot has changed since _Voyager_ was destroyed." Both Chakotay and Kathryn flinched at the reference. _At least he didn't point out that it was my fault_ , she thought.

The admiral continued. "It is becoming increasingly clear to us that the new warfare is going to be inside our minds. Why blow up the surface of a planet, destroying its resources, when you can just convince the residents to embrace their conquerors with open arms?" Chakotay felt the hairs rising on his arms in reaction to the implication. " _Voyager_ encountered several telepathic species that engaged in this manner, both during its time in the Delta Quadrant and since. You, Kathryn, were a particular target, it seems, but I've been told you've learned to adapt and resist telepathic control."

Kathryn nodded slightly, not sure exactly how much resistance she'd be able to put up in response to a truly despicable telepathic alien, like the one who had caused her to hallucinate holodeck objects and later her ex-fiancé...or the 8472 who had somehow caused her to blow up her own ship. "Perhaps," Kathryn answered, "but at least once, we needed Kes's help. Without her, we never would have defeated those enemies."

Paris nodded, looking pleased. "Exactly," he responded, "which is why the first order of business is to bring Ocampa into the Federation."

A simultaneous thought occurred to Janeway and Chakotay. _No wonder Paris wanted us to sit down; I might have fainted_.

"All right," Kathryn answered, "but there's an obvious problem. How are we supposed to get back to the Delta Quadrant? For each direction of the trip before, we needed a Caretaker, who is now dead, and a Borg transwarp hub, which is now destroyed."

"Nothing easier," answered the admiral. "Fluidic space has outlets throughout all four quadrants, and we've negotiated a treaty with Species 8472 that will allow us to travel through their space, with some modifications to our spacecraft so as not to destroy it."

Both Kathryn and Chakotay could only stare at Paris in shock.

After a moment, the admiral pulled out a padd. "So," he stated, handing Kathryn the tablet, "I'm here to offer you your rank back and a new ship, Delta Class – that means it's safe for fluidic space. She's got plenty of room for families too, like a Galaxy class, since we might be spending extended periods of time in the Delta Quadrant. Chakotay, I'd like to offer you the rank of Captain. Technically, it will be your ship, but Kathryn will lead the mission. Since it's a diplomatic mission, it shouldn't be dangerous, and you'll have backup. We'll be sending a few other ships simultaneously. And as bonded humans, we believe that you two are the perfect pair to command this mission; you will be as resistant as possible to any telepathic attacks."

Kathryn, with Chakotay reading over her shoulder, scrolled through the document, which ended with the specs for a new starship. The vessel was labeled NCC-74656-A: _U.S.S. Voyager_.

When she looked up, Chakotay was gazing tenderly at her. She knew at once that he would support whatever decision she made. But she also knew that there was only one choice she could make. After all, she was Kathryn Janeway, and she had a mission to complete.


End file.
